Bright Shadows
by Sanorace
Summary: When Vetinari forces Vimes into the world of the Guarding Dark, Sybil must find a way to bring them back safely. Uncover the secret to the age old mystery of how the Patrician survives with so little sleep. Guest starring: Mrs. Cake, the Summoning Dark, the Guarding Dark, Dr. Lawn, Young Sam, Dorfl, Willikins, Corporal Ping, Adora Dearheart, Lipwig, and Drumknott.
1. Chapter 1

When Vetinari forces Vimes into the world of the Guarding Dark, Sybil must find a way to bring them back safely. Uncover the secret to the age old mystery of how the Patrician survives with so little sleep.

* * *

The Patrician of Ankh-Morpork was not a man who put any stock in the occult. Early in his life, he had dismissed wizard magic as nonsense. He had been right, of course, but witch magic was another thing entirely.

During his Grand Sneer with the Assassins Guild, Vetinari gleaned some insightful information from a woman just before he ticked her name of his to do list. She told him how very little of a witch's power came from magic. It lit a spark in his mind that opened up a world of opportunities.

Young Vetinari studied a variety of witch abilities, but one stuck out to him as particularly useful: borrowing. The ability to send his mind into an animal and watch the world through its eyes held limitless possibilities. He devoted much of his time studying the concepts and attempting to create his own personal version that used the nonmagic involved. The result was the seemingly contradictory ability of borrowing himself. When activated, the technique initiated a condensed version of sleep that cut his need for rest considerably. Over the years, he had honed this skill to near perfection, but everything came with a cost.

A remnant of magic apparently took a personal affront to tardiness. It was not a forgiving spell. Vetinari promised himself he would never allow it to happen again.

He broke his promise.

The events of the last week had taken him up to the four day mark. Vetinari gambled his time and lost. There are things that even the Patrician of Ankh-Morpork can miss, and a fifth day had long since ended before he was in a place secure enough to spend his sentence. However, in these advanced circumstances, safety was more complicated than normal.

* * *

Vetinari massaged his temples as he sat alone in the Ramkin family library. The exhaustion was unbearable. He prided himself on his ability to push past pain. Mind over matter was old hat, but this ordeal had piled on so much matter that his mind was caught in an avalanche. Coupled with the knowledge of what he was going to do, Vetinari decided that one avalanche wasn't enough.

Vimes knocked awkwardly on the door like someone not sure if he should knock before entering a room in his own house.

Vetinari didn't answer.

Vimes came in anyway.

Vetinari vaguely noticed the thinly veiled confusion on the commander's face. It was obvious that he had no idea as to what to do when the most powerful man in the city was sitting on his couch grimacing in pain.

"Sir?" he asked.

"Ah, Vimes, I need your assistance with something." Vetinari put on a mask of nonchalance thinner than a wet paper bag. "Would you be so kind as to hold out your hand?"

Vimes was a suspicious bastard by nature. At face value, the request seemed innocent enough. That is, if you could make yourself believe that Vetinari was capable of doing anything innocent. Hesitantly, Sam Vimes held out his left hand instead of his right just in case he ended up losing it.

Vetinari firmly grasped Vimes' outstretched hand.

The Patrician suddenly collapsed with all the grace of a drunken flamingo. He pulled Vimes to the ground not bothering to avoid an obtrusive end table.

"What the hell?" Vimes said rubbing the fresh bruise on his chin. "You had better…"

Vimes shuddered as a violent pain shot up his arm and spread out across his body. It seemed to be absorbing all the tension in his muscles and leaving a burning ache behind in a combo that chiropractors would kill to learn.

"Sybil!" Vimes called out to his wife and tried to pry the man's fingers off his hand. He could feel his muscles relaxing against his will. "Wake up, damn it!"

Vetinari's face contorted as if he was trying to show every expression at the same time. He mumbled something softly, attempting to answer.

"Don't make me break your arm!" shouted Vimes.

In the grand tradition of Ankh-Morpork, Vimes resorted to brute force. He braced his feet on Vetinari's torso and pulled back. In any other situation, this move would dislocate some poor sap's shoulder. In this case, he had all the effect of a four year old whining in a candy store. Vimes found himself growing weaker with each passing second and when Sibyl arrived, he had all but passed out.

"Make him… let go." Vimes choked.

Vetinari's eyes snapped open.

"Don't you dare let go!" He commanded, but his voice lacked its normal keen edge. Heat exploded behind his eyes and his vision bubbled like he was looking through boiling wax. He clenched his teeth in pain. This was no time for pride.

"Please."

Vimes had never seen the Patrician in such a state. Even after being poisoned, Vetinari had still retained his dignity. But now, he lay on the floor beside him tense with agony. Vimes had always secretly wanted to see the Patrician crack, to see that passive face and subtle grin wiped away. But, not like this.

"What is this? You can't just—" Sybil said.

"I need help. I need sleep."

"What am _I_ supposed to do about that?"

"No matter what, don't let go." Vetinari rasped. His voice was almost inaudible.

Weariness ravaged Vimes' body. With the final remnants of his energy he turned to his wife. The last thing he saw before he lost consciousness was the confused face of Sybil.

"I'll be here." She whispered.


	2. Chapter 2

Vimes blinked. He was standing in the streets of Ankh-Morpork or more accurately a place that vaguely resembled the streets of Ankh-Morpork. Everything was positioned just as Vimes remembered it, but this...

It was grey and the shadows stood out in stark detail. The brickwork looked transparent and unfinished where the dim light of the streetlamps clung to the walls. His city as a whole was colorful only in the figurative sense of the word, but this place had no colors at all. The night was eerily quiet. The ambient sounds of the city had disappeared along with all its inhabitants.

_Those damn wizards! They're always poking holes in reality!_

Vimes knew that with magic nothing was to be taken for granted. Even the most basic concepts could be turned upside down. He always said that no matter what there is always the possibility that you are dead wrong. He mentally broadened this idea temporarily to include absolutely anything on the basis that wizards rarely get things right.

Vimes took a hesitant step forward just in case the street really wasn't there. In a place like this, you couldn't trust your own eyes. The cobbles seemed secure enough, but Vimes paused before moving again. This really wasn't the kind of thing that wizards would do.

He remembered being in the library with the Patrician before this all started. He was probably just hallucinating. That juice he drank with breakfast did taste a bit off so it wasn't so farfetched an idea that he could be passed out on his desk. Stranger things had happened, but if he _were_ still in the library, then he should be able to feel where he was, just like the furniture is still there in a dark room but you don't see it until you've stubbed your toe and knocked over a lamp.

He closed his eyes and tried to remember where things were placed in the library, but his mind told him otherwise.

_I'm on Treacle Mine Road past the Misbegot Bridge._

He tried again, but his feet insisted he wasn't anywhere near his house and that he had better stop asking or they would find a way to actually make him kick himself.

And that was when the screams started.

The path toward the noise lit up in sharp detail. Vimes knew the way instinctively. He noticed in passing how little effort it took to run. Years of smoking had scarred his lungs making long chases hard, but here, in this world of bright shadows, breathing only existed out of habit.

He turned the corner onto Gleem Street and skidded to a stop.

"Bloody Hell!"

A mass of pure light sat writhing and oozing on the intersection. The vague shapes of figures bubbled to the surface and submerged again in a frantic boil. Each one seemed to be fighting to get to the middle.

He jogged up to the edge of the… what was it? A creature? Maybe a demon plant or something? Vimes returned to the wizard explanation, just because wizards love letting things out from other dimensions.

The screaming was coming from the center of the frenzied bodies. Vimes glanced around, came to a decision, and drew his sword. He gave the thing a tentative poke. The surface yielded without complaint. He stepped carefully into the glowing white mass.

Sound exploded around him.

The screams were louder inside and mixed with the clamor of hundreds of frantic voices trying to be heard above the throng. Vimes had been in places like this. In a crowd, panic and anger heightened all emotions. People didn't know what to do and they struck out against each other. Rational thought disappeared. This was the place where policing became a violent game of balancing necessity with morality.

Vimes roughly pushed aside the pale figures. Unrecognizable images flickered in his head as he made his way through the white turmoil. Closer to the center, moving became a challenge. It was like walking in a heavy wind. Vimes noticed a darker shape in the middle of the blindingly bright storm. He reached out and grabbed it.

Suddenly the riot dissolved. The figures broke into thin lengths of ribbon and string that darted through the air trying to find alleyways and crevasses to escape down. In a second, all that was left was a rapidly fading mist and unnatural silence.

The screams had stopped. Vimes knew even before he looked that he had found the Patrician.

* * *

Sybil removed her fingers from her ears as Willikins entered the library with Young Sam.

"Was the screaming intentional, Lady Sybil?" asked Willikins. He had been the Ramkin family butler for quite some time and knew that aristocrats had unusual hobbies.

"No, it certainly wasn't." Lady Sybil replied, "I don't even know _what_ this is!"

Willikins inspected the two bodies. He looked at Sybil with a suspiciously blank expression.

"Don't look at me like that; they were like this before I got here!"

"Indeed." Willikins was having difficulty forming a rational explanation for this situation that did not involve traumatizing activities.

Sybil took a second to glare at Willikins. She squared her jaw and looked down at the two men on the floor.

"This is serious, Willikins. Something catastrophic must be happening."

Sybil bent down and picked up Young Sam. She turned her head and locked her eyes on Willikins.

"He asked for help."

Willikins raised an eyebrow.

"Surely your husband has asked you to help him before…"

"I meant Havelock."

Willikins' eyes widened in shock.

"I thought it was odd for Havelock to make a social call. I believe he may have come here knowing this would happen. I don't even know how long it will last. He said he was going to sleep. A lot can happen in eight hours."

Sybil placed a hand on her husband's forehead then recoiled as the strength in her body started being absorbed.

"They both looked so frightened. Havelock never trusts anyone and he would certainly never overtly ask for help like he did. Something seriously wrong must have happened to him. Do you think Rufus knows anything?"

"I believe Vetinari's clerk will be of little help my lady." Willikins replied "The Patrician would not have come here otherwise."

Willikins walked to the window and closed the fine silk curtains. They were so delicate that the light in the room barely darkened at all since they were made for privacy when reading. It would be counterproductive to have blackout curtains in a library.

"He must know something," said Sybil. A plan of action was forming in her head. She scowled at the Patrician with half a mind to wake him up and force him to start explaining things.

"I advise caution. Drumknott may very well be the cause of this. We cannot risk exposure until we know more about what has happened."

"Then I won't be able to approach Rufus about this until the rumor spreads. It's not prudent to ask about something before you should know about it."

"And what will you do about His Grace's disappearance?" Willikins asked. "Or yours, My Lady? All three of you disappearing at the same time would be highly suspicious."

Sybil sighed in frustration. A sudden run in with the Patrician was the last thing she needed today.

"I'll have to continue with the schedule I already had planned for the day."

"And Sir Samuel?"

* * *

"Are you going to tell me what's going on?" Vimes asked.

Vetinari didn't answer. He hadn't shown any sign of life other than a ragged breathing and a blink from his unfocused eyes every few seconds. Vimes groaned in frustration.

"Right, I don't know if you can hear me, sir, but I'm not going to sit around here watching you practice your wet rag impersonation." Vimes prodded the Patrician with his foot. Nothing. He sighed and contemplated just walking away.

He crouched down, picked up the Patrician and carried him over his shoulder.

"I hate this place already."

* * *

Willikins left Sybil to deal with the Patrician and Sir Samuel. He had volunteered to cover up Commander Vimes' disappearance. Eight hours wasn't all that long but he would still need the help of the Watch if he had any hope of success. Despite his master's faith in his companions, Willikins never trusted the watchmen. He did, however, trust Dorfl. Golems are inherently reliable.

"This Is Highly Irregular." said Dorfl, "I Will Need Proof."

"Then, on a purely theoretical stance, what actions might you take to fix the situation?"

"I Would Need A Human, Someone Of The Commander's Build. Then Direct The Body Double To Places Where He Could Be Seen By Many People, But Never Close Enough To Expose The Disguise."

It was a good idea and one that didn't involve complicated plots. Sometimes the simplest plan was the most effective.

"As conjecture only, who would you choose to play the role?" Willikins asked.

"Corporal Ping."

"Who's that?"

"He Is Someone Who Will Not Attract Attention If Absent." Dorfl replied.

Willikins heartily agreed with that precaution.

* * *

Lady Sybil called in Dr. Lawn. Vimes had never trusted any other doctor. If anyone managed to get her husband to agree to uncomfortable examinations and still go back for check ups, then they were a small god in her book.

"You seem to have killed the Patrician… This isn't a good start."

"He's not dead!"

Dr. Lawn knelt down.

"So it seems." He said.

"I need you to monitor them until I come back. I'm sorry it's such short notice, but I'll make it worth your while." Sybil said.

Lawn gestured at the two sleeping men on the floor and gave her a disapproving look.

"What if they wake up before then? You'll miss you're chance."

"Chance?"

"I figured you would never be able to convince your husband to try some experimentation without using force and the idea of having the Lord Vetinari under your control must be very exciting." He shrugged "I may be getting on in years but I'd pay good money to see this. Then you can sample the whole table of debauchery in one clean sweep."

It took every ounce of self control Sybil had to stop herself from strangling the doctor. She arranged her face into a mirthless smile and waited for the surging rage to cool to a simmer. She stared at Dr. Lawn with that terrifying mask for far too long than he felt was necessary.

"I would have died if it weren't for you." Sybil said in a sickeningly sweet tone. "You're the only one I can trust to do this, please. Your assistance will not go unrewarded"

It was not a request. There was no room for negotiation in the terms of his surrender. Dr. Lawn covered his eyes with his hand then looked up at Sibyl.

"I have the feeling that I will leave here a very happy man or not at all."

Sibyl picked up Young Sam and handed him to Dr. Lawn. He held the child away from him like a slab of rancid meat.

"Normally I would leave him with Willikins but he's out doing damage control. I would give him to the maid but she's on sick leave. You are simply the only option. I can't risk letting anyone else know. As it is I'm shocked no one has found out already. Absolutely nothing stays secret in this city."

Dr. Lawn looked down his nose at Young Sam and set him on the floor with all the loving care of an alligator. Sibyl had carried down a toy chest for him. The boy wasted no time in pulling out every single one.

"May I remind you that my area of expertise with children usually stops after-"

"Now, I won't be hearing any of that. You said you would look after Sam and Havelock. It can't be that bad to add in Young Sam." Lady Sybil put on her plaster face and stared at the doctor. He recoiled but stood his ground. The peace treaty had already been signed. This was just revenge. Dr. Lawn rallied.

"I did agree to stay here, but that's when I thought I would just be sitting around making sure the reaper doesn't come to Sleeping Beauty and Rip Van Winkle over there. Hey! You can't just le…"

Lady Sibyl was already out the door.

* * *

Vimes didn't really know where he was going; he was just following the roads that were slightly more firm looking than the others. Whenever he turned a corner he could almost catch the sight of one of the white figures dashing away.

_If this is a hallucination then it's the worst I've ever had. There aren't even any talking flowers or headless cats._

For some reason, he felt as if there should be wooly lambs floating around.

Vimes stopped in front of a smoke shop and grinned like a schoolboy putting a frog in his teacher's desk.

_Since none of this is real, I can get those cigars that Sybil hates so much._

He set the Patrician down and opened the door.

He did not go inside. There was no inside to go into. The whole place had that same dull grey transparent look as parts of the buildings outside. It was as if some lazy god had made the city and didn't bother to put textures on the inner walls. He slammed the door shut and turned around.

The white mist was creeping back and the figures were pouring out from alleys and doorways. Instinctively, Vimes reached for his sword but stopped. The weapon had been useless before. He glanced down at Vetinari as if he could explain all this.

The Patrician still lay on the cobbles where Vimes had left him, but his eyes were squeezed shut now and his body had tensed up. Vimes kept his eyes on the approaching figures while he tried to shake Vetinari awake.

Once again, the ghosts frayed apart like threads and were sucked back into their hiding places.

Vimes watched the cracks for signs of movement.

_He told me not to let go. Is this what he meant?_

"Sir, can you hear me?"

The Patrician slowly relaxed at Vimes' touch but didn't open his eyes. He made a sound somewhere between a wheeze and a chirp.

"What is this place?" Vimes asked. He saw Vetinari's lips move but no words came out. Minutes passed before the Patrician managed to speak.

"Take me… safe…outside." Vetinari blindly grasped Vimes' arm "I need to see them… where they can't see me."

Vimes frowned furiously. This world brushed him the wrong way and the only person who could explain things was the one man who never clarified anything to anyone. It irritated him that he would probably be forced to follow along clueless for the entire length of this trial.

_That's not anything new._

Vimes sighed and pulled the Patrician to his feet. The man would have collapsed if Vimes had not been holding him up.

_Somewhere you could watch the city but not be seen?_

It would have to be a place that was high up. The Opera House was pretty tall. But, it had to be outside? If it was important to stay in the open air, then the Opera House wasn't an option.

There was a clacks tower in Pseudopolis Yard. That would work. Past the first floors, it had stairs on the outside. They would only have to be indoors for a little while.

Vimes could see the tower. He had climbed it many times. It had small balconies at intervals all the way to the top. Maybe the first landing would be high enough. He was not looking forward to climbing all those stairs carrying a half conscious body.


	3. Chapter 3

The first balcony up the clacks tower was in the process of being built into a secondary sorting area. There was scaffolding connecting the bottom of the platform to the top of the main office below and there were plans in place to build extra rooms in that space, but there hadn't been much progress. Evidently, someone didn't want to have to move all the equipment and stop all service while the builders worked.

Vimes sat Vetinari down on the first landing. It had been surprisingly easy to bring the Patrician up the narrow stairwell. Vimes wondered about his apparent lack of weakness in this world and placed a point on the hallucination side of the debate against the wizard explanation. He contemplated testing his invulnerability theory but quickly thought better of it. He turned to Lord Vetinari and selected a question out of the bottomless pit of mysteries about this place.

"Why me?"

Vetinari was slumped against a wall, his breathing still irregular. He opened his eyes, glared at Vimes, and said nothing. Vimes glowered back defiantly. He had won his fair share of stare offs with the Patrician and knew how the game worked.

Vetinari groaned and looked away. He hurt too much to even bother playing. That sort of thing didn't matter here anyway.

Vimes scowled at him. The man had completely dismissed his question. He grunted in exasperation and leaned on the railing, his eyes searching the neighborhood below.

The Patrician shifted unsteadily away from the wall and sat cross-legged with his face in his hands. The intense pain and exhaustion had scrambled his thoughts to a point that even his basic concepts of conversation were up for debate. The fact that he even recognized Vimes' words as a question was a medal-worthy accomplishment.

"I'm supposed to tell you something, am I?" He closed his eyes and tried to sort through the fragments in his head. He was almost certain that when asked a question it's polite to give an answer.

Vimes frown deepened. He continued to glare at the houses below.

_Just a while ago, I saved that bastard from being eaten by freaky bubbling ghost people, and now he's toying with me! Why do I even bother?_

Vetinari pushed aside his headache only to find five more behind it. It was the hydra of migraines. His vision blurred and his thoughts stumbled on a set of words that kind of looked like a reply if you looked at them the right way and squinted. Under these circumstances, they were close enough.

"Because I trust you?"

It took Vimes a moment to reverse his train of thought and process this comment. His head pivoted slowly towards Vetinari.

"Huurrng?!" he grunted in disbelief. This was not the kind of situation Vimes imagined he would ever require the use of his talents learned by reading "Where's my Cow?" to his son.

Vetinari laughed feebly, choked, and ended up coughing on his hands and knees. Vimes took a step back. He'd been fooled by Vetinari before, but this felt uncomfortably genuine. His eyes shifted in uncertainty.

The Patrician rose unsteadily to his feet leaning heavily on the wall. His mind groped around for some remnant of sanity to cling to.

_Who is this man?_ Vetinari thought. He was desperately trying to put together the edge pieces of the scattered puzzle in his brain. _Ah, yes, Vimes. What do I know about Vimes?_

A memory shifted into place like a life raft.

"The first time I saw you, I put you down as a parasite trying to ride on the fame of Sergeant Keel."

The life raft was full of piranhas.

Vimes gripped the railing until his knuckles were white. His brief moment of doubt disappeared.

_He's definitely toying with me! He forces me into a place I know nothing about. I ask a legitimate question and all I get are snide remarks. The worst part is that he does this all the time! Even here, where there's no one around, he has to push me down, the pompous bastard._

A light emerged from the muddy frustration in Vimes' head. His hands relaxed on the guardrail and a faint smirk tugged at the edges of his mouth.

There was no form of measurement for impending danger, but if there was, a grinning Vimes would be at the top of the scale. Vetinari blinked with unfocused eyes. He had never felt afraid around Vimes, that was one of the reasons he had chosen to come to him, but now…

Sam stood square in front of the Patrician and locked eyes on him. He reached back, and with justified precision, struck Vetinari clean across his face sending him flying towards the staircase. He landed with a thump and halted just before the point where he would have tumbled down the steps.

"Oh gods, you have no idea how many times I've wanted to do that!" Vimes shouted in triumph. He breathed in a lungful of sweet, sweet vengeance as he etched the memory into his mind and savored the moment.

* * *

Dr. Lawn was reading a book in the library. It was one of those tacky romance novels that don't make sense unless you're fifteen. Young Sam tried to get his attention and Lawn ignored him expertly. On the floor, Vetinari's face paled.

* * *

Vimes' smug victory smile vanished as the sky above him turned glaringly bright. It chased away shadows and left every surface bleached and smooth. The floor beneath him was slowly losing substance as the weaker shadows were swept away leaving only the darkest to struggle against the onslaught. Shambling ghostly figures emerged from the steps below crawling over each other and painting the staircase white behind them.

"What the hell!"

Vimes snatched up Vetinari's fallen body and held him over his shoulder with one arm. In this world, the movement was effortless. He ran up the steps three at a time using his free hand to grip the railings and pull himself forward. The light was slowly consuming the clacks tower from the ground up, and no matter how hard Vimes struggled, it was gaining on him. A human body can only go so fast.

"Damnitdamnitdamnit!"

Vimes reached another landing. He had personally overseen the construction of this one. It was one of the few platforms on the tower that had an urgent transfer station. Maintenance was conducted on a daily basis, but when something breaks high on the tower during peak operating times, it could cause ugly and unprofitable delays. The transfer stations were set up with counterweights to pull a worker up to the next station. Vimes prayed to all the gods that someone had bothered to reset the thing after the last use.

"Yes!" he gasped. "Whoever is in charge of resetting these things is getting a promotion when I get home!"

Realization flashed in Vimes' head as the ropes sent him and the Patrician higher up the tower.

_If…_

* * *

Corporal Ping was absolutely giddy at the prospect of impersonating his commanding officer. No amount of disapproval from Willikins could stop him from dancing on tiptoes as he led them to his favorite costume shop.

Willikins and Dorfl paused outside the store. Apparently Ping was into some questionable forms of disguise.

"I'm Going To Stay Out Here," said Dorfl tactfully.

Willikins squared his shoulders and carefully prepared an impassive face. He entered and followed Corporal Ping past shelves of distasteful products. It wasn't as if Willikins had never seen this sort of thing before, but with Lord Ramkin's voracious approach to life, he had seen more than enough of them to put anyone off.

"Here we go," said Ping proudly "they sell the whole set as one or you can buy just the mask. There's an ultra pack too that comes with-"

"I'm certain the mask will be enough." interrupted Willikins. Then something caught his eye. "Tell me that isn't what I think it is."

"Oh yeah, the Vetinari Deluxe package is very popular among power play enthusiasts. Unfortunately, some of those customers take it too far and end up in the Lady Sibyl Hospital."

Willikins stood paralyzed as unwanted thoughts played havoc on his mind's eye. Corporal Ping patted his shoulder.

"I know, it's sad, they even had to designate a whole ward to house the wackjobs who insist they really are the Patrician just because they bought the costume."

Willikins visibly relaxed a little.

"Let me show you the one for the Librarian! Its got the most convenient little flap."

"No."

"Awe, come on, I'm sure you'll like it if you just tried it on."

Willikins rotated stiffly and walked out the door. Corporal Ping sighed, made his purchase, and followed him outside to where Dorfl was waiting.

"Alright, let's get going! What's the plan, chief?" asked Ping. He was almost shaking with anticipation.

"The plan is to fool the entire city of Anhk-Morpork into believing that despite all evidence, you are in fact Commander Vimes," said Willikins aware of how stupid that sounded and how pathetic it was that he could imagine no other alternatives. "It's too suspicious for me to be seen walking with you back to the Ramkin estate. Follow the normal patrol route down Scoone Avenue and use the servant's entrance. I'll be there by the time you arrive."

Without another word, Willikins disappeared into the crowd.

* * *

Vimes had gotten halfway up the clacks tower before he encountered a transfer station that had not been reset. He cursed and started pulling Vetinari up the next set of stairs.

An unbidden thought slithered through his brain.

_What am I going to do once I reach the top?_

He leaned to the left so that he could see the white figures slowly blistering below him. He turned his head to see how far from the top he was.

Vimes' face froze in terror. The floors above him were engulfed in a glowing white mist that seemed to condense on every surface as it floated inexorably down the stairs.

_Damn it! Damn it!_

He wracked his brain trying beyond hope that some idea would come to him. He prided himself in his ability to think on his feet, but this place was so completely foreign to him. He gulped and thought about how he had been able to run without getting tired.

_I could try jumping. I just might not die horribly…_

Vimes glanced over the side of the clacks tower. The whole world glowed white hot. Waves of spectral bodies crashed against the tower in a flood of whitewash.

Vimes' heart beat quickened. There was nothing he could do. He could be prepared for a lot of crazy stuff but this was miles out of his league. He pulled Vetinari away from a quickly fading part of the platform and held his limp body close. The Patrician's skin felt deathly cold.

Vimes took a calming breath that scurried away as panic took hold of him. He tried to remember the anger he had felt when he first arrived, but the darkness would not answer, the fear had defeated the rage that had constantly followed him. Fatalistic thoughts assaulted his resolve.

_I have nothing left._

Vimes slumped down onto the fading woodwork. He slid Vetinari's feet away from the edge and held him in his lap like he had done to his son so many times before.

The blinding white reached him and Vetinari screamed. The translucent figures engulfed Vimes and the Patrician. The sounds of raging crowd filled his ears and swirled violently in a tempest that threatened to tear him away. He held on with all his strength but he knew it would not be enough. The white flood had already won.

Vimes squeezed his eyes shut as a ripple of guilt passed through him. He knew long ago that he didn't deserve the happiness he had been given. He knew that someday Sam Vimes would have to face the bill and pay his debt.

"I'm sorry." He whispered.

* * *

Dr. Lawn hovered over the Patrician's body administering what the nurses had started calling CPR. He hadn't yet learned what the initials stood for, but judging by the looks he was getting, he did not want to know.

Vetinari had been perfectly stable for hours and now he was suddenly screaming. What could have happened to make his vitals spiral out of control like this? Nothing was wrong with either of the men physically, but they were both quickly dying. To top it all off, each time he touched the Patrician, Dr. Lawn felt weak as if something was sapping away at his energy. He wished he was back at the hospital where he could easily call in another doctor to help, but that wasn't an option.

Dr. Lawn glanced over at Vimes' body. He hadn't even touched him since Vetinari had started going downhill. Vimes had been comparatively healthier than the Patrician, but dead and more dead were still just as dead.

He hadn't noticed Young Sam watching him. All children have the ability to learn by example. It takes a special kind of child to realize that his teacher is doing it wrong.

Sam clutched his old wooly sheep and hit his father's chest with it.

* * *

Vimes' heart skipped a beat. The clacks tower shuddered beneath him and the clamoring ghosts parted. He looked up just in time to see a large blue sheep charging down the stairs above him leaving a clear path in its wake. He rolled himself and the Patrician out of the way and barely missed being trampled. Tufts of cotton spilled out from the top of the tower in a graceful cascade, each one dancing on the air absorbing the white mist.

The cotton balls on the stairs, however, had all been shoved into a small space and acted more like ground meat than a poetic metaphor. The fluffy blue boulders picked up Vimes and Vetinari like static on a cat. Fuzzy blobs of death roughly extruded them down the stairwell, but at least Vetinari had stopped screaming.

Something in the blue torrent made a short high pitched noise. Vimes yanked on the Patrician's arm and pulled his head above the blue cotton.

"Vimes!" Vetinari shouted angrily before he was pulled under again.

Vimes reached down and tugged on the fabric of Vetinari's clothes. He managed to get a grip on the Patrician's belt and hauled him up. Vetinari glowered at him.

"You touched my…"

"This is not the time for arguments, Sir!"

* * *

Young Sam chucked the blue sheep at Dr. Lawn.


	4. Chapter 4

Three women stared at Lady Sybil as she entered the room. A silence hung in the air that only comes when a lot of chatting has suddenly stopped.

_Balls, they know! _

Lady Sybil put on a concerned look and took a seat.

"You all seem so frightened. Has something happened?"

"You tell us," said Rosie Devant-Molei.

Lady Selachii elbowed her in the ribs.

"She means we're worried about you Sybil. There are many things that can be difficult in…" Selachii trailed off, suggestively.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Sybil replied truthfully.

"Of course, I never believe in rumors, but you know how it is…" Lady Selachii seemed unable to complete a sentence today.

"We completely understand," said Brenda Rodley, the Duchess of Quirm, "and I know you want to act as if nothings wrong, but we've known you for so long that you can't fool us,"

Sybil's face froze.

_Nothing stays secret in Ankh Morpork! _

"Why would I want to fool you? That's silly."

Lady Selachii and Duchess Rodley exchanged looks. They had noticed Sybil's poker face.

"So it is true then! Oh, Sybil we're so sorry!"

"It's just a phase. All men go through it at this age."

Sybil's eyes popped.

_Wait, what? Havelock has done this to other men too?_

"No no, you don't have to be scared to talk to us about Samuel," said the Duchess of Quirm. "My husband did strange things at this time too."

Sybil did the only thing she could think of. She burst into tears ready to cry until she figured out what the hell they were talking about.

"There, there, dearie we didn't see it coming either."

"It was another man, I heard—Ow!" said Rosie.

"He'll come back. He's just trying to reclaim the excitement of his youth."

Sybil grimaced and tried not to look too incredulous.

_So that's what they're on about? They're barmy if they're willing to believe he's trying to reclaim his youth. I guess a midlife crisis is a safer rumor than the truth, but where did it come from?_

Sybil sniffed, wiped her eyes, and played along.

"He told me he was going to be gone for a few days working on a case."

Lady Selachii nodded sagely and gave Sybil her handkerchief.

"At least that's a more credible excuse than the one my husband concocted. He decided to by a racehorse and was gone for two weeks. He still won't tell me what he was doing."

"Every man has a midlife crisis. It's only natural."

"But… but, Young Sam will…" Sybil blew her nose theatrically.

"Yes, that might be one of the reasons he's run off. Children are always stressful on a man."

"And you are getting on in age dear—Stop that!" said Rosie.

"The point is we're here for you, Sybil."

Sybil cried some more, confusion can be easily disguised with a good dose of angst.

* * *

Vetinari walked unsteadily away from the tower. The remaining white puddles made tiny waves as he passed like the moon affects the tides. He sat down on the plinth of a statue in front of the Opera House.

"Every action I take here has a price. It is one of the laws," he told Vimes. "This world moves in unpredictable ways but it does have an underlying structure that keeps it from collapsing in on itself. The contest remains the same each time."

"You've been here before?"

"More often than I'd like. Sit down, Vimes."

"Are you finally going to tell me what's going on? Hey, what are you doing?"

Vetinari held Vimes's hand between two of his. He closed his eyes and took some calming breaths.

"You may not have noticed, but I recover faster when I'm in contact with you. I don't want to have to stay here any longer than necessary just because you doubt your own masculinity."

Vimes decided not to play into that comment. _He's used me as a tool before, but this is the first time he's been this blatant about it. He's treating me like an open oven on a cold day._

"It's ironic though," said Vetinari, "You haven't noticed that I've been in your personal space all along."

"For once in your life, will you stop being cryptic?"

The Patrician gave Vimes a cold look. "This is Ankh-Morpork, but obviously not the real one. Have you seen a pattern? Here the streets are perfectly accurate but the buildings themselves are not as solid. Doesn't it seem strange that you can enter the rooms in Pseudopolis Yard, but the insides of other buildings are invisible? Every shadow is crisp yet the light is dull and unfocused. We've been walking down roads that you frequent. You've only gone places that you have seen."

Vimes glanced around at the eerie gray landscape and thought. _Ah, so this is a hallucination or maybe it's a dream or something like that? Then again, Vetinari is twistier than a corkscrew, we could be anywhere._

"You're telling me this is all in my head then? I know I'm messed up, but those white ghost things are insane."

"The pale figures are not yours, they're mine." Vetinari said.

Vimes looked at him suspiciously. Lord Vetinari had never given him so many straight answers in a row. "Those monsters belong to you? Then what the hell am I doing here? It's your responsibility. I've got nothing to do with this!"

"Your mind is a neutral battleground. The risk is less severe here. I should not have forced you, but I feared I would not survive by myself."

The two sat in stunned silence.

"Bloody Hellfire!" shouted Vetinari. "Can I not lie here? What kind of mind makes up a rule like that?"

"A policeman, that's who." Vimes yanked his hand away from the Patrician's grasp. "You could have used Drumknott in your little voodoo board game. Did he refuse and you came to me? Is this a new policy, you're not even going to bother lying to me before you exploit me anymore? Why me?"

Vetinari chose the safe option of not answering.

Vimes bristled in irritation. "You have to say something. I deserve an answer. I saved your life!"

"You don't even know how many times I have saved yours."

Vimes clenched his fist and let it go a few times. He had to admit that there was a good chance the Patrician might be right on that one. He crossed his arms, and squinted up at the sky. There was nothing there but a pitch black void. Vimes quickly looked down and shivered. He skimmed his mind for something to distract him from the vertigo.

"Sir, did you mean what you said back there? Do you really trust me?" Sam asked.

"Did I say that?" Vetinari wore a straight face that conveyed nothing.

"Yes, you did. I remember it quite clearly. I believe it was just before you spontaneously passed out for no discernable reason." Vimes glared at him and stood up. Vimes had grown impatient with this absurd gray city

"I am under no obligation to tell you anything, Vimes."

"Yes, you are! This is entirely your fault and if what you say is true then this world is in my head. You can't just ignore me! I own this place!"

Hot fury flowed into him effortlessly. His emotions felt so close and dense. The anger was surprisingly reassuring though. Losing the power of his anger on the tower when he needed it most had been terrifying. He felt the familiar darkness click into place. The shadow below his feet darkened and sent a tiny spark toward the Patrician. Vetinari's eyes flitted toward the movement and back again.

"You can't lie to me in my own mind!" shouted Vimes.

Vetinari's face remained blank, but his eyes glassed over like frost on a window. Vimes waded into the darkness, the hatred and rage that lived far underground, the humiliation born from years of deceit. The black coiled around him in jagged branches. Pieces chipped apart and shattered on the ground sending bolts of darkness zigzagging over the cobbles.

"Of all the times you've sent me off on some crazy mission, you never once told me why! Well I've had enough! This place doesn't really exist and for all I know it's just some blasted nightmare! You're going to tell me or I swear I'm going to start testing out all the plans I've collected over the years on ways to kill you and I have a long list!"

Sharp black bolts surrounded the Patrician and gripped him tightly. Vimes took another step towards Vetinari whose impassive mask had not slipped. The Patrician's eyes looked distant and blind. Vimes reached out slowly and deliberately, the scorching black crackling all around them. Suddenly Vimes stopped and withdrew his hand, stunned.

"It is true, isn't it? You trust me," he said bemused.

Vetinari closed his eyes delicately. When he opened them, the life had returned.

"I know you will not hurt me, Commander. You will not betray me."

The black bindings disappeared. Vetinari's expression turned sour. He glared coldly at Vimes.

The sound of footsteps on the damp cobbles attracted Sam's attention. A person stepped out from the shadow of an archway and into the faint light of a streetlamp. Out of his oiled leather coat, he retrieved a lantern and lit it causing violent storm clouds to roll in on the horizon.

"It isn't like you to take an answer by force, Sam." He said.

Vimes stared transfixed, all thoughts of the Patrician wiped away. Thunder growled softly and a light rain came down. It slowly washed away the burnt ash where the black lightning had burned the ground. The rain increased and spread across the city. It cleaned the streets and buildings of the splattered white paint and the remains of the blue wooly mess. Everything washed down the gutters leaving only the pristine shadows and clear gray buildings.

"You've gotten better at holding back. I could tell you intended to stop from the beginning, didn't you?"

The Guarding Dark closed the gap between them. He placed a hand on Vimes' shoulder and smiled.

"You've caused quite a stir in my city, but it's nice to finally meet you face to face. I was starting to believe it was impossible."

Vimes looked puzzled for a moment. He wasn't quite sure if he could trust what he was seeing or what he was thinking. Nothing about this made any sense.

"Sergeant Keel?"

"Of course not! You of all people should know that he's dead, twice even. No, no, I'm called the Guarding Dark."

Vimes' face lit up with comprehension. "I know you. You're me! That is… you are, I mean, I am… er… we?"

"Yes, Morporkian seriously needs more pronouns," the Guarding Dark said scratching his chin. "I guess 'you' would work. Calling us 'we' would be awkward. I don't want to sound like some stuffy royal."

"My thoughts exactly," said Vimes before he realized how trite it sounded.

"I've grown with you as you aged, but in a different way. I'm not really you per say but I'm not a separate entity."

"That 'you' just doesn't sound right," said Vimes.

"I know. The 'I' sounds fine but you're me too. Nothing else fits unless I start talking about myself…yourself?... in the third person. So it'll be like, 'I am the one who keeps Sam's anger safe until Sam asks for it'."

"That just sounds awful."

Vetinari stood to the side silently watching the exchange. The appearance of the Guarding Dark had surprised him and he was trying to glean some insight from the conversation. All this inconsequential chatting was getting on his nerves.

"I've started calling the Summoning Dark 'it'," said the Guarding Dark.

"I thought I had gotten rid of that. Why does it have to keep coming back and bothering me like this?" Vimes groaned.

"Sorry, I tried, but some of it is stubbornly attached to you. I think it likes you, but don't worry. I'll come and help you if it shows up again, but until then, I've got to go find it before it starts ruining the clean slate I just made." The Guarding Dark winked playfully. "This may be Ankh-Morpork, but I still like to keep it moderately tidy. That white junk is sure to leave a stain. If you could keep an eye out for whatever's making it, I'd be much obliged."

The Guarding Dark smiled and disappeared in a splash of rain. Vimes stood there for a moment in utter bewilderment. Then he threw his hands in the air.

"What, you're just going to leave me here?" he shouted. "I didn't even tell me anything! Why am I… you… such an inconsiderate twit?"

Vimes made a complicated gesture with his hands and stomped off. Vetinari followed him without much thought. Vimes spun around and held out his hands in front of him.

"Why the hell are you following me? You know what? I'm done with this! I'm getting out of this wretched place and I'm going home. You can deal with all this lunacy by yourself for all I care."

Vetinari smirked as he watched Vimes trudge through the rain. He shrugged dismissively and waited a few minutes before continuing to follow him at a casual pace. He glanced behind him. The white figures were already peeking around corners.

* * *

The new Vimes was to spend the day on the roof of his mansion updating the traps. Willikins explained that Sir Samuel enjoyed the creative outlet of designing traps for the various spies and assassins that targeted him at home. So much so that the grounds surrounding the house had become a veritable minefield.

Of course many of the plans never made it past paper if only for the fact that there wasn't enough room. Willikins spread out some of Vimes' more recent blueprints so that Constable Dorfl and Corporal Ping could see them.

"Woah, the Commander sure has a twisted mind," said Ping.

Willikins thought back on all the years he had known Sam and sighed to himself.

_You have no idea._

"Many Of These Are Impractical The One Involving The Monkeys Should Be Removed From The List," said Dorfl.

"Aw, but I liked that one."

"You Obviously Have Little Knowledge Of Monkeys."

"This one looks good. It's got something to do with the moat out back."

"That's a pond," said Willikins.

"Close enough."

"That was just a variant on what he already installed. The hippos seem to be more reliable," explained Willikins.

"The Shifting Drainpipe Is A Solid Idea," said Dorfl.

"No pun intended, eh, Constable?" Corporal Ping chuckled.

Dorfl shot him an impressively cold stare for someone whose eyes were two pits of fire. Willikins coughed politely.

"We scrapped that one because the drainpipe became useless afterwards. Too much rainwater close to the house causes cracks in the foundation."

"What foundation? This is Ankh-Morpork! There are cracks in everyone's foundation."

"Not mine," said Willikins sternly.

"My Feet Get Cracks Sometimes, But That Is Not The Same."

"Why are we even looking through these if they all don't work?"

"I assumed that one of you could improve upon them," said Willikins doubtfully.

"And, by one of us, you mean Dorfl."

"Yes."

"Am I getting paid for this?"

"You Volunteered," Dorfl reminded him.

"Do I at least get free lunch out of this?"

"Dorfl does."

"Dorfl doesn't eat!"

"I Periodically Ingest A Thermal Shock Preventative."

"That doesn't count!"

"Detritus Eats Rocks, And That Counts."

"Enough of this!" said Willikins as loudly as he could without shouting. "Just pick a blueprint and we'll change it as necessary while we build it."

"The Shifting Pipe One Might Actually Work If You Could Make It Out Of Rubber," said Dorfl picking up the blueprint for closer examination.

"Oh, do the glass doorway trick," said Corporal Ping excitedly.

"What's that?" asked Willikins.

"You get a really nice piece of glass and make it really clean. Then put it in a doorway. And when someone opens the door and tries to go through then smack right into the clean glass pane."

Willikins blinked. "That's… surprisingly brilliant."

Corporal Ping snatched up a pencil and turned over a blueprint to the clean side. He started scribbling like a four-year-old.

"What about using water, like it shoots out the top of the house like rain and they get wet? Don't you hate it when there's a sudden shower and you get all cold. You can water the grass at the same time."

Dorfl looked over Ping's shoulder at the crude drawing.

"That Could Be Used As A Corralling Tactic. A Trap That's Harmless But With A Wide Area Effect Would Force An Attacker To Retreat Momentarily. You Could Direct Them Into A More Sophisticated Trap Farther Out Of The Way. Then Less Traps Need To Be Laid On The Grounds And Young Sam Will Have More Space To Play."

"What about explosions or flamethrowers?" asked Ping excitedly.

"That would be too impractical," said Willikins. "We don't want to cause damage to the house."

"Sugar," said Dorfl.

"What?"

"Sugar Powder Ignites In Dust Form When Floating In The Air, But Quickly Dissipates Like A Flash. It Would Be Unanticipated. When Used In Small Quantities, The Flame Would Be Harmless To The Area Around It And Leave No Marks. Plus It Can Be Set Up Anywhere And Only Needs A Small Spark To Ignite."

Willikins hadn't expected anything useful to come out of these two. He was pleasantly surprised. He should have seen it coming though. They were watchmen after all. Vimes had trained them himself.

* * *

By the time Vetinari arrived at the clear gray Ramkin estate, Vimes was lying on the floor of the library trying to wake up or possibly fall asleep. It was hard to tell. Vetinari smiled and took a seat. Eventually Vimes sat up and glared at him.

"If you're not going to help then leave."

"Oh don't stop on account of me," said the Patrician, "I find this all very educational."

"Get out of my house." Vimes growled.

"I most certainly would if that were an option. Unfortunately it is not but watching you suffer is always an entertaining alternative."

Vimes groaned exasperatedly and propped his forehead up with the palms of his hands.

"I hate you so much."

"I don't know about that. Something tells me you are not as angry at me as you say." Vetinari stood up and leaned over Vimes. "On the tower, you were going to punch me, I saw your fist and the intent in your eyes, but you only slapped me. You held back. Why?"

"Compassion, I guess."

"Compassion or pity?"

Sam didn't answer. Vetinari didn't press.

Vimes lay back down on the floor and tried to remember what position he was in when he lost consciousness. He tried to forget that the Patrician was watching him but those blue eyes could bore through stone. Vimes glared up at Vetinari's impudently unconcealed grin. He was filled with the sudden urge to wipe that smile off his face.

"Maybe if I recreate the scene…"

Vimes grabbed Vetinari's hand and pulled. He heard a satisfactory grunt as the Patrician's chin hit the edge of the table as he fell.

"That was uncalled for, Vimes."

"It made me feel better, and since this is all in my head, I can do what I want. You're probably just an illusion anyway. The real Vetinari would have murdered me by now."

Vimes saw Vetinari's face go completely blank. The Patrician moved away, stood up slowly, and headed for the door. Vimes ran to block him.

"Oh no you don't. You're not getting away without telling me how to get out of here."

Vetinari stared at Vimes with his cold unreadable eyes.

"You ask me, when you yourself have not revealed anything to me?" said the Patrician. "You prematurely assume that I have all the answers even when I explained that we are in your mind, a world I cannot possibly be prepared for. The contest is the same but the rules have changed. You heard me when I told you that I came to you in desperation because I feared for my life. I did not lie when I said I trusted you. I simply ask that you wait." Vetinari paused, his features frozen. "I never do anything without a reason, Vimes. There are some things that mustn't be shared."

Vimes recoiled in guilt. Even without mentioning his aggressive behavior, the Patrician had managed to unveil his misconceptions.

"You are not required to do anything," said Vetinari. "I have no power to order you to assist me. You simply being here is help enough."

"So I just wait?" said Vimes.

"You may want to find some way to occupy yourself. The process will take a long time."

"What am I supposed to do, read a book?"

"Nothing can exist here that you can't remember. You would need to have memorized the book cover to cover."

Vimes thought of 'Where's my Cow?' and shook his head.

"If I memorized the book then I wouldn't need to read it. That's a stupid rule."

"But, alas, one that makes sense. This is your mind after all." Vetinari took a gray book from the shelves. "I am almost certain this will fail, but the risks of trying are practically none." Vetinari focused on the book.

Nothing happened. He shrugged and walked down the hallway with it.

"Hey, aren't you going to give that back? What are you even doing with it?" asked Vimes.

Vetinari had already turned the corner. Vimes followed him outside and past the gates where the Patrician found a low wall to sit on. Vimes tapped his foot.

"This may be a dream, but that's still my book, sir."

"I am aware. I will return it momentarily."

Vetinari eye-balled the book in a way that would intimidate the gods into writing the book just to make him stop.

Nothing happened. Vimes watched with mild interest. Vetinari tried a different approach. He closed his eyes and held the book gently. Nothing happened. Nothing was getting a disproportional amount of screen time.

Vetinari snapped the book shut.

"Alright Vimes, you win. How do you do it?"

"Do what? You said I couldn't write books I didn't know."

"Not that. I mean this—"

Vetinari punched Vimes in the gut. Or, he would have if Sam hadn't stopped him and forced him against a wall. Vimes' eyes flickered with anger.

"You're too slow here."

Vetinari smiled and pointed down. "I was referring to that."

"What are you talking about?" Vimes let go of the Patrician and stepped back to look at the ground he was standing on. Two black scorch marks were left where his feet had been. Vetinari crouched down to touch them. He wiped away the ash, but the dark marks underneath seemed to have fused with the cobbles and could not be smeared.

"Fascinating," he murmured.

"You could have told me that's what you wanted," said Vimes.

"You only seem to do it when suitably riled up. This is one of those things that you never bothered to explain to me. I had to take the practical route of experimentation."

"You tried to punch me!" said Vimes.

Vetinari raised an eyebrow. Vimes shut up.

"This power of yours," said the Patrician "if you can move the darkness to your will and not be overcome, then that opens up a lot of options." He handed the book to Vimes. "Make it black."

Vimes looked at Vetinari suspiciously. He held the book in both hands and focused. Nothing happened. The role of unproductivity seemed to fit Nothing perfectly.

"What the hell? I just did it a moment ago!"

"Perhaps more practice is in order."

"Can't you just get on with whatever it is that will get us out of here?"

"I cannot start until the time is right and if you ask me what we are waiting for I will invoke my right to remain silent."

* * *

"Thank you for your support ladies, but I must be leaving," said Lady Sybil tearfully.

"No, no you shouldn't be alone at a time like this," contested Lady Selachii.

All this posturing was getting on Sybil's nerves. Times like these made her truly envy her husband's total disregard for societal mores.

"Yes, but I think that taking my normal routine today would keep my mind off of things."

"Nothing can do that, he's your husband," said the Duchess.

Sybil sighed inwardly.

_They just can't take a hint._

"But I have to go. I don't want people to think something is wrong. They'll get suspicious and start even more rumors!"

"But we can still go with you then," said Lady Selachii.

_Damn it, why do my friends have to be so friendly?_

"Well you see, I have quite a lot to do and I don't think you'll want to follow me around all day."

"Oh Sybil, you mean a lot to us, it's the least we can do," said Brenda.

"But I… I have to take care of the dragons today."

"Oh posh, Sybil, Rosie can take care of them by herself, can't you Rosie?"

Rosie gave Brenda a cold look.

"We're your best friends. We would do anything for you in your time of need."

Lady Selachii didn't look so sure.

Out of desperation, Sybil turned to the one thing that was sure to get anyone off her heels.

"But, after this, I made an appointment with Mrs. Cake."

Of course, Sybil had no intention of actually visiting Mrs. Cake. No one in their right mind would ever actively seek out a meeting with her.

"I see," said the Duchess anxiously. Selachii tried to look supportive and failed. She harbored a particular dislike for Mrs. Cake and all of her tenants.

"Perhaps I should um… control the damage?" suggested Selachii hopefully. "We don't want anyone gossiping about your husband. I'll just keep an ear to the ground and snuff out any rumors I hear."

"Lady Salachii is right, dearie," said Brenda grasping at the excuse. "Someone needs to defend your honor. Now, we have to get a head start. Rumors need to be nipped in the bud!" They both nodded resolutely.

Sybil left the house relieved. Mrs. Cake would always work, but she felt a little guilty about tricking them. They were good friends, but it was high time she visited the Patrician's palace. She had waited long enough and something told her that she should have just come here to begin with. Suspicions aside, Drumknott was probably the only man in Ankh-Morpork who would have any idea as to what was going on. Plus she had to find out where all these rumors were coming from. Along the way, she had overheard a group of coppers complaining about her husband suddenly leaving because of something to do with witches and one thousand elephants. Right outside the palace she heard two ladies gossiping about how the Commander of the Watch was kidnapped by Klatchians.

"This is ridiculous."

She strode directly to the oblong office only to find a baffling scene. The drapes were closed and candles had been placed in the room.

"Oh, hello Lady Sybil. His Lordship told me to expect a visit from you. If you would be so kind to wait there for a moment, I'll just finish this up."

Drumknott was in the process of tailoring the hem of Vetinari's suit jacket. However, the man wearing the suit was definitely not the Patrician.

"Why hello. I don't believe we've met. I'm Leonard."

"Why are you… what? Drumknott, start explaining now."

"I have no idea wh—"

"Don't play dumb with me, Rufus! What's happened to my husband? Why are there so many rumors? What are you doing to that man's trousers?"

"I am simply mending a few tears, but I suppose it must look quite different from outside."

Sybil glanced at the candles then to the closed drapes.

"You're putting on a shadow play? Don't you realize Havelock is in trouble? There are rumors flying everywhere!"

"Oh I know. I'm the one who started them. His Lordship left me an extensive list of choices. I'm afraid devising creative excuses is not one of my talents. And, Leonard, can you tilt your head back for a moment. Little farther, perfect."

"You started all this gossip, but I thought you wanted to keep the Patrician's disappearance secret? What were you thinking?"

"Can you put your hand on my head Leonard? Yes, like that. I was instructed by his Lordship to execute diversion tactics, Lady Sybil. Nothing ever stays secret in Ankh-Morpork. You know that. Under normal circumstances, the disappearance of two prominent members of society would not take an hour to be exposed let alone two days."

"Two days?"

"It's just an estimate. From what the Patrician has told me, the presence of another person may shorten the length of the event. Lean over me Leonard. Put your hands on my shoulders."

Sybil was starting to feel very uncomfortable about the people outside watching the shadow play.

"I don't see how these different poses are going to affect the quality of the stitching, Mr. Drumknott," said Leonard.

"It's a special technique. My uncle taught it to me."

Sybil stepped back with a disgusted and look on her face.

"Is that true?"

Drumknott's face was unreadable.

"Can I have a hug, Leonard?"

"Well sure, his lordship never asks me for hugs."

"When he comes back I'll tell him how helpful you've been. I'm sure he will be very grateful. Go get changed. You can keep the suit with you for now."

Drumknott smiled and turned his attention back to Lady Sybil.

"If you would just wait for me in the hall, I'll be happy to explain everything I know. You just can't be seen in here when I open the curtains."

She glared at him as she walked out the door. When Drumknott emerged from the office minutes later Sybil was leaning against the opposite wall impatiently.

"Do be careful," said Drumknott. "We've needed to repair that wall many times in the past. It is not as sturdy as it appears."

Drumknott led the way into a nearby gallery. Busts of former patricians lined the walls at intervals.

"I've been starting counter rumors," said Drumknott.

"So you've told people different things so that there will be confusion?"

"Yes that too."

"Too?"

"It's human nature to focus on the most exciting explanation of an event. It's more fun to believe an outrageous lie than something boring like the Patrician going on holiday. Desperate times call for desperate measures. I've started ridiculous rumors about the Patrician that can be reasonably denied tomorrow."

"But everyone will see through that!" Sybil countered.

"It doesn't matter because most of them want to believe it's true."

"They want to believe in a gay love affair between the Patrician and his clerk?" said Sybil skeptically.

"You'd be surprised at some of the things people will print in magazines."

"Couldn't you have chosen a different idea? Havelock is going to kill you when he gets back!"

"Perhaps not, after all, the plan is working. Yes, I think I made a wise decision. Maybe I should skip town to give the rumor veracity?"

"No! This whole situation is insane!" shouted Sybil impatiently. She realized her mistake and quickly composed herself. "Please, tell me what I should do about Sam and Havelock."

"Just keep them safe for now and try not to touch them for too long or move them much. You must not wake them or separate them. I can't stress enough how important that is. Other than keeping them comfortable there really is nothing you can do."

"Is that it? That's all you can tell me? I'm not falling for that!"

"The crux of the matter is that the Patrician doesn't like to share details about his experiences. I've only ever joined him once. He never asked me to do it again, and I didn't volunteer."

"He's done this before?"

"Only once, after that he insisted on struggling through on his own."

"Why? What's the point of all this?"

"Sleep, Sybil. His Lordship does not sleep like normal people do. He's developed a way to compact a full night's sleep into the span of two hours. He never told me how but it seems to work well in short intervals. Unfortunately, if he stays awake too long then he'll go into a comatose state for increasing lengths of time. It's never been this bad before though."

"Are they in danger? Havelock asked for help. He never does that. He looked so scared."

Drumknott paused and held his hands in front of him.

"They could be but Sir Samuel is stronger than I am. Maybe has more defenses. There's a possibility that they are perfectly fine."

"And how likely is that?"

"I don't know. I'm not familiar with Sir Samuel's mental condition or even if it will make any difference."

"What are the other possibilities?"

Drumknott stood with a solid blank expression and said nothing. He had been confronted by the Lord Vetinari himself on a regular basis. Nothing budges a man like that. Sybil sighed in defeat.

"At least tell me what happened when you were with Havelock," pleaded Sybil.

"That, Lady Sybil, is personal." Drumknott's eyes betrayed him. Sybil could see that beyond the mask he was terrified.

"Please Rufus, I need to know."

"No you don't," said Drumknott firmly. "Even if I told you, it would not do you any good. In that state of condensed sleep, no one can do anything except your husband. You cannot see into people's minds, but if you could, I doubt you would be able to survive for long in his Lordship's inner thoughts. Go home Lady Sybil. I'll make sure no one will look for the Patrician at your house. I believe it is the safest place for him right now. Commander Vimes must have set up strong defenses if he's managed to scare the Assassin's Guild." Drumknott flashed a sad faint smile. "Take care of them."

Drumknott left Sybil to see herself out. She decided that maybe visiting Mrs. Cake wouldn't be so bad right now.


	5. Chapter 5

Sybil never really liked Mrs. Cake. Yes, she was considerate and helpful, but that was overshadowed by her general creepiness. Sybil stopped in front of the door. She raised her fist to knock but stopped.

"Come in dear," said a voice from inside.

Sybil did nothing. She heard a groan from the other side of the door.

"You know Oi hates it when you do that," said Mrs. Cake.

The door opened and Sybil smiled kindly.

"Yes, yes it does, but Oi still don't like it," said Mrs. Cake fiddling with her ear.

Sybil decided not to continue pestering the lady of whom she was asking for help.

"At least it gets you to turn off your precognition. Can I come in?" asked Sybil.

"Your 'usband with you?"

"No."

"Good, he throws off everything. He's got somethin' nasty following 'im."

"Sergeant Angua isn't here is she?"

"No"

"What about Reginald?"

"Not him either. You picked a bad time to drop in. Oi suppose they'd be down at the watch house."

"I actually wanted to talk to you," Sybil sighed. "It's about Sam. I really have no one else to turn to and I figured you might even know already depending on what kind of day you've been having."

"If this is got something to do with those rumors about your 'usband, can't do anythin' about it."

"No, I'm fine with the rumors. I just need to know what Sam's future is. Let's just say that he's in a bit of trouble."

"More 'en a bit if you're coming to me."

"Please, Mrs. Cake, I have to know. Samuel might not…" Sybil had been desperately trying to avoid thinking about what might happen to Sam, but the truth was that the imagination can come up with things much worse than reality. She needed to know, even if it was just for the sake of her own sanity.

"That bad, eh?" said Mrs. Cake sympathetically. "Oi'll try, but ain't going to get anythin' useful. There's too much static around that man."

"What if you read the future of a person who's with him?"

"Oh, Oi see, the old lookin' through the eyes of your peers thing."

"Yes, but I'm worried that even you can't see the future of the man I'm talking about."

"Don't be daft. Oi can read anyone's future."

Sybil sighed, she really hated to do this but she had run out of options.

"Mrs. Cake do you have any engagements today?"

"Oi was goin' to see a man about a 'orse, but Oi can do that tomorrow. What's with all the pussyfooting Sybil? Why don't you just ask me what you gots to ask me or Oi'm goin' have to turn my precognition back on?"

Sybil made a risky decision

"Tell me what Havelock's future is like."

"The Patrician? That sounds awful lot like spyin'. Oi don't do spying. Can't anyways. He can tell when Oi looks him up somehow. It's probably those darn rats, or maybe he's got some sort of wizard charm or somethin' on 'im. Oi don't know."

"But he hates magic."

Mrs. Cake shrugged noncommittally.

"Don't matter, Oi'm still not goin' there. Oi stays well away from politics."

"This isn't some political stunt! They really are in serious danger!"

"Oh really, if Vetinari's involved it's almost always some sort of plot. How can you be so sure he's not pullin' your leg?"

"He asked for help. He said please!"

Mrs. Cake's jaw dropped.

"Cor blimey, please tell me you're lyin'!"

"I wouldn't kid about this."

"Gods damn it, Sybil, why didn't you mention this in the first place? This ain't just bad, this is a disaster! Vetinari does _not_ ask for help!"

Mrs. Cake squeezed her eyes closed.

"Don't panic! Er… that can't be roight. Don't panic, um one more second. What's goin' on? Saw a flash of 'im. Why can't Oi find him now? He was right there. Ah, got it, but it still don't make any sense. Drat, lost it again. Just give it a minute. The Patrician's in a strange place that's for sure.

* * *

Vetinari closed his eyes and tilted his head as if he was trying to hear something far away.

"She isn't here. I shall have to go find her."

"Who are you looking for? I didn't think anyone else could be here."

"You will know when you see her. She is quite remarkable." Vetinari's features softened for a second. It was strange how such a simple expression could surface in this world when anywhere else he would have easily suppressed it.

"I never put you down as a romantic, sir."

Vetinari shot Vimes a dirty look.

"She is different, Vimes, free spirited, charismatic, and impulsive, but still dependably loyal."

"She sounds dangerous. She'll fit right in with your entourage."

Vetinari halted in the middle of an intersection.

"Dangerous, Vimes? Is that what you think, that I only attract dangerous people?"

Vimes thought about it for a moment.

"Yes," he said flatly.

"Is that so, and what about you?" Vetinari narrowed his eyes at Vimes.

"I know I'm dangerous, sir."

The Patrician shook his head despondently. He frowned at Vimes with an expression of disgusted disbelief.

"What was that dirty look for?" Vimes said.

"It sickens me that you are not aware of it already." Vetinari turned his back on him and continued on his way.

"What are you playing at? Don't go around making assumptions of me—"

Vetinari spun around staring at Vimes doubtfully.

"You truly do not know. Listen to me. I have seen you with your little boy, Vimes. You are never dangerous to him. You have gained the option of being gentle, yet you come here to a place where you have absolutely no obligations whatsoever and what do you do? You act just like you do at the watch house!"

"What are you a preacher now?" Vimes rolled his eyes. "You critique my actions all the time, and now you're telling me how to think. Forgive me for saying, but there isn't a man alive who can think the way you do. They'd go crazy."

"I am not trying to force you to act like me. I'm trying to make a point. You hit me on the tower because that is something you would do in reality given the chance, but you wouldn't, I don't know, hug me. You say you're dangerous but that only applies to Commander Vimes who patrols the streets at night. You also made animal noises, but that part belongs to Sam Vimes, the daddy." Vetinari's words ran together, each striving to be first.

Vimes crossed his arms and glared at Vetinari incredulously.

_Did he just call me daddy? This is daft._

"The limits are there for a reason, sir. It's insane to think you can arrest criminals with a baby blanket tied around your neck. Why don't I put on red gogo boots and wear my underwear on the outside too?"

"That's not what I mean! You can't mix them in reality, but those boundaries don't exist in this world. You could—"

Vetinari didn't get to finish because Vimes had tackled him, or rather it looked like one at first but then stopped. Vimes simply had his arms around him. It lasted only a second, but it had happened. He pulled away and frowned at the Patrician.

"There, are you satisfied? You got your bloody break in reality. Now stop complaining and go do whatever it is you're supposed to be doing here. There's a girl somewhere right, you're not going to find her by standing around and making wild judgments about my personal life."

Vetinari didn't move. He stared into the distance with his eyes wide. Commander Vimes spun around to see what he was looking at, but there was nothing there. He searched the streets around them for any signs of movement, but there was nothing. Nothing was getting quite a lot of publicity.

Puzzled, Vimes went back to Vetinari and waved a hand in front of his milky eyes. "Hello?" Vimes stepped back and leaned against a wall confused.

_I wonder how long he's going to stand there like that. Is this all because I hugged him? He did ask for it._

Vimes smirked.

_Ha, you're always so cool and in control. You always have your facts and spies telling you what to do, and now your logic has failed you. You spent your whole life playing with the minds of men, but now the boot is on the other foot. This is almost as fun as hitting him._

The Patrician started to tremble and his face turned fearful. Vimes almost laughed.

_You're in the barrel now. You probably haven't been hugged since you became Patrician. What was that… more than twenty years ago?_

Vimes paused in his musings and took a few steps closer to Vetinari. He noticed some white figures creeping towards them with caution. Vimes ignored them. He looked into the Patrician's eyes.

_Good gods, he looks just like a new recruit sent to my office for the first time. I sit there for a few minutes just to make them uneasy, he looks just like that, but he's stuck. He's even shaking._

Vimes sighed. This wasn't quite the same as those times though. New recruits were always excited to prove themselves to him. Even that wimp A. E. Pessimal was this scared but he pushed past it admirably. Vetinari's paralyzed look just baffled him.

"Er, are you going to be all right?" He fished in his mind for something to do or say or anything.

_What the hell does anybody do in a situation like this?_

"Um… there, there, sir?" he said unsurely "It will all be okay?"

Vimes put a hand on the Patrician's shoulder stiffly. Vetinari reflexively jumped away and ran down the next street. He didn't go very far. Vimes sauntered slowly up behind him.

"Right, so you're not dead on your feet. That's good, but enough's enough. Stop messing with me."

_All this can't be because of me. Something else must have happened. Maybe it was on the outside._

Vimes was almost positive the Patrician wasn't faking it but you can never be sure about these things. This place played tricks on your mind and Vimes was getting more than a bit aggravated about this whole thing. He put his hand back on Vetinari's shoulder. It hadn't worked well before but it was the only thing he could think of. Vetinari flinched. Vimes sighed and tried to think of something to say.

"Alright, I'm sorry about all that, but you did ask for it… and… er, maybe I should just go… be somewhere else."

He pulled his hand back and shrugged. There was an immediate flash of light and the sickening sound of hundreds of white figures rushing towards him all at once. Then, just as fast, everything returned to normal, except for one thing.

Vetinari was holding onto him so tightly it hurt. Vimes knew the Patrician was physically more powerful than his brittle appearance suggested, but right now his arms felt like chains.

Vimes grunted and tried to push the Patrician away to no avail. Vetinari kept his arms firmly locked around him. Vimes tried to wriggle out of his grasp. He didn't expect it to work and was not surprised when it failed.

_What's going on? We're in my dream. How can he be overpowering me?_

He knew plenty of actions to take in order to get out of a situation like this but most of them were illegal without provocation and the rest of them were a mix of immoral, impractical, and inapplicable.

This left very few choices to work with. Violence was easy, you always knew where you stood with that, but violence here would result in gooey boiling blinding death. Actually, any aggression towards the Patrician outside his mind could no doubt end just as horribly. Vetinari sometimes got creative with his executions. Being dunked in molten glass would fulfill the same requirements and he would get a nice life sized crystal statue to put in his menagerie as an added bonus. Vimes shivered. He'd rather avoid that.

Vimes tried the only thing he had left: words. He was never very good at diplomacy.

"Let go."

That didn't work.

"Let go, sir?"

It was about as effective as using a metaphor on Carrot.

"Please, let go, sir."

Nothing happened. Nothing started to worry about being type casted.

Vimes sighed and looked at the dark clouds in the sky. The rain had quieted to a light shower.

"Fine, you win. I'll just wait then."

And, he waited.

* * *

Mrs. Cake had been keeping her eyes closed for quite some time. A mischievous grin would flash across her face sometimes. Sybil glared at her impatiently.

"Never thought he'd do anything like this," said Mrs. Cake.

"What are you talking about? What are they doing?"

"Oi can't really see all that well, but Vetinari seems to be… not 'imself lately."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Nothin' dear, nothin'."

"Stop giggling and tell me what you see! What's going to happen to them?"

"Oi can't really tell you for sure, you see, the trousers of time has got many legs. A lot of 'em are completely distorted in my vision 'cos they're unlikely. Most of 'em are fuzzy and unfocused. It must be your husband causin' static interference. Oh my…"

"What, what is it?"

"Tee hee hee. This future gots so many different resolutions that Oi could watch these all day. Ooo that's a good one. Oi wonder if there are any more."

"Mrs. Cake this is serious!"

"Oh they're serious all right. Ha ha, there's another one. It's a shame Oi can barely see it."

"Stop it! I need to know what's going to happen."

"Orlright, basically the most likely outcome is death."

"WHAT?"

"Yup, that seems the best course there."

"The best course? What's worse than death?"

"All Oi can tells you is that there's other forms of existence between life an' death other than bein' undead," Mrs. Cake grimaced "It looks like my snooping may be causin' a disruption. The Patrician hasn't moved for a while. Yes, Oi'm definitely blockin' something from getting' to him, but Oi can't see what. This is annoying."

Mrs. Cake snatched her handbag and headed for the door. Sybil stood up and followed her outside.

"You've hardly told me anything. Where are you going?"

"To your 'ouse of course, Oi'm not gonna be of much help 'ere. We're too far away and your 'usband is causing too many hiccups. Whatever they're doing roight now, they're way closer to each other than they ought to be. Can barely see a thing. You needs me to be there, and conveniently you has piqued my interest. This is gonna be excitin'!"

* * *

"Are you seriously going to just stand here all day? Are you even still awake?" Vimes thought about the Patrician's bony arms and vice grip. "Don't tell me you're dead."

Vimes set his head down on Vetinari's shoulder in defeat. "Of course if you're dead then you can't tell me you're dead." He sighed. "I've wanted to kill you before, but this is probably the least fun way of killing you I can think of. It's even more boring than my plan to kill you slowly by growing a plant through your chest."

His options exhausted, Vimes resorted to the course that made the least sense. Following the same logic as slapping a person awake from a concussion, he kindly patted Vetinari on the back with his one free arm. The Patrician went limp and crumpled to the floor.

"Damn it!" Vimes shouted. He turned around. The white figures had found their chance and raced forward.

They suddenly stopped. They flitted back and forth in a circle around Vimes and the Patrician as if they were falling off a Teflon pan. Vimes felt something around his ankle.

"Aagh, not this again. Let go, you're just like a parasite. First you force me here, then you use me like some sort of heating blanket, and now you're clinging to me like stink on a dog. What's next? Are you going to lay eggs in my chest and eat my body from the inside out?"

This seemed to have some effect. Vetinari's face softened slightly and a tiny hint of a grin appeared.

"Great," huffed Vimes, "I'm glad you think this is funny! Those white mushy monsters are always just a few feet from killing us and you think it's funny. Ha, ha, Vimes is going to die, well no thanks."

Vimes started to walk away but Vetinari's grip on him hadn't lessened. His face had relaxed which may or may not be good depending on how much trouble you were in at the beginning.

"What the hell? Even my son doesn't do this to me. What is it about this world that messes with your head so much?" Vimes blinked then put his hands over his eyes, "This is my mind. Damn it, I'm the one messing with your head."

Vimes cursed and sat on the cobbles resigned to his fate. He put his elbows on his knees and absentmindedly watched the jelly ghosts mill around in their erratic and confused way. Vimes surprisingly enjoyed it and abstractedly wondered how he could recreate effect back home. It reminded him of the vats in the candle factory. It would have to be in a glass container… maybe he could turn it into a lamp somehow.

A whisper found its way into Vimes' ears. He looked around then twisted to see behind him. The pop from his back cracking seemed to echo off every surface in the city. He looked down. Vetinari was sniggering still clenching his leg. Vimes sighed exasperatedly and let his torso topple onto the cool cobbles.

"For a glorious minute, I had almost forgotten you were here." Vimes grumbled.

He heard the Patrician whisper again but couldn't quite make out what he was saying. Vetinari carefully rose from the ground shaking and feebly picked up the gray book. He didn't repeat what he had been mumbling. He just half-heatedly beckoned for Vimes to follow him. His steps were unsteady. Vimes didn't bother asking about what had happened. Vetinari would not have answered him anyway.

* * *

Dr. Mossy Lawn put down a medical text with disgust. The library's collection was grossly outdated. Young Sam had wondered off somewhere and Dr Lawn didn't care to go looking for him on the correct assumption that the child could navigate this maze of a house better than he could. Plus he was supposed to be taking care of the corpse brothers. He knelt down next to the Patrician and made a face like someone tasting a lemon for the first time. He contemplated certain courses of action in the privacy of his own mind.

Dr. Lawn had been the Vimes family physician ever since Young Sam was born. He knew every bone and scar on Samuel Vimes' body and quite a few other things that fall under the heading of confidentiality.

_Who is the Patrician's doctor? _He thought. _Or, more importantly, is he any good?_

Dr. Lawn had been told by Lady Sybil not to touch his patients because there may be magic involved, but it didn't seem to hurt him much when he was doing CPR_._

_I have to take this chance to examine him. The Patrician's physician must be highly skilled. I'd never be able to meet him but I might be able to glean some insight from inspecting his work._

Dr. Lawn talked himself into courage. Then a horrifying thought surfaced.

_What if he wakes up?_

He suspiciously watched Vetinari's face as he slept. This could be a trap. He had often suspected that the Patrician had planned a few of his own assassination attempts. This sort of ruse was not below him.

Dr. Lawn's face contracted in fierce reflection. A few solid minutes passed before he got up and double checked that all the curtains were properly closed, even the smaller ones on the second floor galleries. He returned, sat beside the Patrician, and steadied his nerves.

_I'm a doctor, I do this all day. Why is it so different when it's Lord Vetinari I'm examining? He's just another man. If I slice him open, he'd still look all lumpy and gooey inside._

The doctor briefly thought of the medical supplies he had in his bag and chased away the idea before it could get any purchase on his brain.

_No, it'll just be a checkup, nothing else. I could just say I was reacting to him choking… or something. Damn, it shouldn't be this hard._

Dr. Lawn thought about taking off Vetinari's shoes. That wasn't anything special. Even the Patrician couldn't fault him for just making his patients more comfortable. The idea that Vetinari might have a podiatrist had nothing to do with this at all.

The shoes were simple and utilitarian. Dr. Lawn never saw the Patrician close enough to notice how functional he dressed. In a place as rich as Ankh-Morpork, the leader of the city should be wearing much nicer clothing. Lawn shook the thought away and examined Vetinari's feet. They were warm. He had unconsciously expected the Patrician's skin to be cold. He rolled his eyes at his own weakness to superstition and returned to his work.

_Bunyons, Ha, at least his feet look like an old man! Ankles, fine. Knees, everyone has bad knees at this age, maybe he's had surgery._

Dr. Lawn encountered a problem.

_I'm sure as hell not taking his pants off._

He squeezed his eyes shut and rested his chin in his hands.

_If this is some sort of scheme of his… then I'm probably a dead man already. I mean, he'll probably kill me just for saying that ridiculous thing to Sybil!_

He slumped his shoulders and looked at the ceiling.

_Dead man walking… the watch is going to rule this suicide. But, I can't stop now. I haven't even found anything yet._

Dr. Lawn took a calming breath and placed his hands on Vetinari's shirt. He gently prodded the Patrician's chest with a practiced hand_._

_He's surprisingly fit for a man his age, but so is Sir Samuel. Lord Vetinari must have an active lifestyle despite his fragile appearance._

He unbuttoned the Patrician's shirt and pulled it down to reveal his shoulders and arms.

He saw the scars and stitches.

One of them looked fresh only in the last few months. It was very small and for all he knew it could have been from a kitchen accident, but most of them were very old.

_This one is obviously a stab wound, but it must have been made when he was only a child. What happened? _

Dr. Lawn slowly ran his fingers over the Patrician's scared skin. Being an assassin was a risky career choice. Some of the stitches had been expertly sewn so that the scars were very small.

_That must be his personal surgeon._

Others were crude by comparison. It made sense that an assassin sent abroad would need to employ local doctors with less skill. He noticed a long and particularly rough scar running down Vetinari's arm.

_It must have been sewn by a complete amateur, or…_

He paused, struck by a disturbing notion. Spies are meant to stay hidden, always.

_He stitched it by himself…_

Dr. Lawn felt a sudden pang of guilt as the reality of the moment sunk in. He had always thought of the Patrician as, well, different, better, somehow, than everyone else… almost… inhuman.

Now he realized that Vetinari truly was only an old man, an old man who didn't give consent to an examination, an old man who didn't know someone who was not his doctor had taken off his clothing, an old man who had every right to be angry when he woke up.

* * *

Captain Carrot had sent Sargent Colon and Corporal Nobbs to see why Commander Vimes was so late to work. They wanted to speak with him directly but that was obviously not an option. Once again, Willikins' trust in Dorfl paid off. The golem could mimic a few words in Vimes' voice with mathematical accuracy. Unfortunately his vocabulary was mostly limited to 'yes', 'no', and a variety of curse words. With a bit of help, Dorfl managed to convince Colon and Nobbs to follow Willikins' instructions in his stead. The two watchmen stood at attention in front of Willikins.

"Commander Vimes has asked you to purchase the items on this list. They will be needed in order to complete the project."

A piece of paper was handed over and thoroughly examined.

"What's this, a length of fire hose? What could that be for?" asked Colon.

"A better question is how are we going to get it?" said Knobby.

"There are certain items on this list that will not be used in the construction. This way anyone who might take it from you will not be able to guess the nature of the trap by looking at the parts list."

"Mister Vimes thinks of everything."

"Where the heck are we supposed to get a fire hose?"

"You will be compensated for your lost work hours at overtime payment value."

Knobby and Colon never did overtime so they weren't sure what the going rate was. Willikins knew that there was no pay change for overtime, but banked on the two officers not knowing.

"Of course all expenses will be paid," said Willikins.

Knobby's eyes lit up.

"I will be expecting receipts."

Knobby slumped his shoulders.

"I'll need you to be back within two hours. I give you permission to use a carriage. Remember this is supposed to be secret."

Willikins knew damn well that Knobby and Fred were no good at subterfuge. That's one of the reasons why he had chosen them. The more baseless rumors flying around the better.

"But all these supplies are going to be really heavy," said Sargent Colon.

"That's what the carriage is for," Willikins replied.

"But supposing we drop the …. 13 glass plates 5inch round? That would be horrible."

"I'm pretty sure I can't carry ten feet of fire hose even if I knew where to get one," said Knobby.

Willikins sighed.

"I'll talk to the Commander about having Detritus accompany you, but in the meantime just retrieve the lighter objects."

They both saluted.

"Righto, sir."

"And the money?" asked Knobby.

"You really shouldn't give Knobby any money Mr. Willikins. Take my word for it."

"No, no, I believe Corporal Nobbs will be an excellent money handler."

The butler glared at Knobby with eyes that clearly said that death would not be swift otherwise. He handed over the money with a smile.

"Good then."

* * *

Vetinari stopped again and attempted to find the girl he was talking about. His eyes were closed as if he was sleeping. Vimes watched him for a few minutes. Every so often, the Patrician would wince in pain.

"What are you doing?" Vimes sighed and leaned up against a wall, he really needed a cigar now.

"I am trying to concentrate."

Vimes opened the blank book again and stared at it. It resolutely failed to turn black. He sighed and slid his back down the wall.

"Do you still have those rats?" asked Vimes.

"Hmm?" said Vetinari. He wasn't paying attention.

"You told me you had intelligent rats in the dungeon that spy for you."

"Oh, yes I only have a few of them at the moment. Rats don't live very long and a large number of them moved out, something about a cat and a utopian rat island. Now if you don't mind."

Vimes idly picked up a loose cobblestone and tossed it from hand to hand. He had the ideal opportunity to learn all of Vetinari's deepest secrets, but it just didn't feel right.

"Do you spy on me, sir?"

Vetinari sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"I have not spied on you for years, Vimes. I have informants on your street and of course, I do spy on the Watch in general, but not specifically on you. Even when you went to Uberwald, my spy did not accompany you all the time, did he?"

Vimes tossed away the rock.

"I visited Lady Margolotta while I was in Uberwald. She seemed surprised when I told her how old you were."

The Patrician smirked.

"That old hag. She must have realized that I broke her curse. I could tell she spent a considerable amount of time planning that one. Of course, it's all in good fun, a creative exercise. She was hoping to kill me through natural means. Humans are short lived creatures so why not just speed up the process? Death comes to everyone, and that way she would never be suspected. Not getting caught is one of the rules to our game."

"Much more subtle than the poisoned candles."

"Oh, do shut up, Vimes." said Vetinari and abruptly got to his feet.


	6. Chapter 6

Vetinari led the way through the wet gray streets of Ankh-Morpork following a voice that only he could hear. He stopped momentarily and closed his eyes again.

"Do you really hate being a duke?" he asked.

"What kind of question is that?" Vimes replied annoyed. "I guess I don't really hate it, the baths are nice."

"Out of all the privileges of your station, you choose a hot bath as being the one redeeming feature. How astute."

"I just can't stand the posturing and feathers, the formal attire, and inane parties where no one really cares what they're celebrating just as long as they're seen there."

"True, but don't you like living in luxury?"

"Hah!" Vimes said mirthlessly, "I don't even use most of the rooms in that house!"

"That house?" Vetinari asked.

Vimes sighed.

"Sometimes I stop and look at what's around me, and I think 'where am I?' It's not just the house, but everything. Silver spoons, servants, little cups so thin you can see through them, random rules, dressing rooms, and people who call me 'Your Excellency'. I can't stand that!"

His shoulders tensed. He shook his head and looked away as if the damp streets were responsible. He frowned and grasped the book in both hands. Ever since the day he married Sybil, he'd been baffled by his fortune. It was always haunting him in the back of his mind.

"None of it is mine. None of it makes sense. It all belongs to Sybil. Even though my name is on the deeds and the bank account, it's not really mine. It can't be mine! I look at my wife and child and I just can't take it. No man should be this happy. I don't deserve any of this! I was a drunkard and a fool! I lived my life like a criminal and every day I fear that the world will suddenly realize its mistake and take away everything…"

Vimes stopped rambling. What was it about this place that pushed him to tell the truth? It was like he was being interrogated by himself. He kept his eyes on the mottled gray city, an illusion of the world he knew. Nothing lived here but him. Perhaps no one would want to be here anyway.

"It seems you finally managed to turn the book black," said the Patrician.

"What's the point anyway?" Vimes dismissively tossed the book sideways. Vetinari caught it.

"The point is that you didn't need any outside assistance to use your power."

"And by outside assistance, you mean getting riled up by you."

"You could say that, but in broader terms, I meant that you became angry not at any external object, person, or event, but rather something internal. Then you were able to use that power to change something small without destroying it."

"And why is that important?"

"It means that you can choose to use your strength at any time, not just when you need it or when it becomes too much to handle."

"…so…?"

Vetinari barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes.

"How can I put this? You are a berserker, Vimes. You bottle up anger until it explodes, but that pressure can become unbearable if you lack a target to detonate. My point is that you don't need to wait for someone to resist arrest in order to use that power.

This was what I was trying to explain earlier. When you are Commander Vimes you are a dangerous and authoritative man. Your fighting skills are legendary. You have killed people with your bare hands. Your body is a weapon and so you use your anger as a weapon, but that is not the only option.

Imagine how it would feel to truly control it. Anger is in itself a neutral power. It is not particularly good or bad. Picture how extraordinary it would be to use the energy from you anger in any aspect of your life without hurting anything that is dear to you. You could even target your wife or your son knowing that they will not be harmed by you. Can you imagine the freedom, Vimes? Is it not intoxicating?"

Sam didn't answer.

* * *

"Put your foot here and you need to avoid this vine."

Ping and Willikins were making slow progress climbing to the roof. The ladder wasn't long enough to reach past the first floor. Ping surprisingly did not complain about the heights.

"Don't you have like a door that goes onto the roof?" asked Corporal Ping.

"No."

"It's just that this looks like the kind of place that would have one of those penthouse gardens or something."

"If we had a door that went from the roof to the inside of the house, then it would be booby-trapped anyway. What would be the point?"

Ping grabbed another rung on the terrace they were climbing. Even in broad daylight it was hard to discern which handholds were safe and which would send a spike through your hand.

"Yes but isn't there a way to turn off the traps?"

"I've already disengaged most of them. Don't put your hand there."

Ping retracted his hand just in time to miss getting it impaled. He stopped and looked irritably up at Willikins.

"But there are still traps everywhere!"

"Some of them are quite difficult to reset. Now put your foot on that protruding screw and grab this part with your left hand."

"What! I can't do that!"

"Just swing your body and do a little jump."

"A little jump? You didn't tell me I had to be a gymnast when I joined up."

"You've just not been in the force long enough. Watchmen are naturally agile. It comes with the job."

"Oh yes, because Sergeant Colon is so agile. And are you saying I'm not a proper watchman just because I can't fly. I've been in the watch as long as Sargent Angua has. Dorfl can tell you. Right Dorfl?"

"I Cannot Say. You Joined Before I Did." Dorfl said from the ground.

Willikins adeptly swung onto the roof.

"Aw, come on!" wined Ping "I barely got passed that terrace, now I have to do that."

"Yes."

"You changed directions in midair! I saw you!"

"It was a simple rotation."

"No it wasn't! You jumped twice! I can't believe that Mister Vimes gets onto the roof this way! You're just stringing me along!"

"Sir Samuel prefers to use the maple tree in the backyard."

"Why can't I use that one then? This is mad!"

"This one does not require the use of the clothes line. It also has no time constrains. I've deactivated the rungs that drop away after a set time span. Those are the ones you're using right now. Try not to touch that please."

Ping pulled away from a seemingly innocuous window sill.

"You can make something timed? How do you manage that trick?"

"Oh it's a device not unlike a waterclock. If you take my hand then you won't activate the shunter."

"Woah, what's the shunter?" Ping froze.

"If you let me pull you up then you won't have to find out."

Ping grasped Willikins' hand and clambered onto the roof. He smiled with pride.

"That wasn't so hard!"

He took a step forward lost his balance and fell. Dorfl was standing under him and with mathematical precision and an instinctive knowledge of the mechanics of deceleration, he caught Ping.

"You Should Try Not To Do That Again."

* * *

Dr. Lawn noticed a shadow moving on the other side of the curtains. It looked like something large falling off the roof. He ran to the window and opened the glass door to the balcony. He looked down to where the object fell. Ping was being held in Dorfl's arms.

"What are—" Dr. Lawn called down.

"Ah, Doctor Lawn," said Willikins, landing gracefully beside him from above. "Sybil must have sent for you to watch us while we modify the traps on the roof." Willikins spoke louder than necessary. Dr. Lawn took a step back and looked at him suspiciously. The butler smiled graciously, "I'm sure everyone feels better having you here just in case something unfortunate happens."

Dr. Lawn caught on and seamlessly joined in as if he knew all along.

"Yes, I'm sure that my patients miss me at the hospital, but I simply cannot refuse a request from Lady Sybil. She is understandably interested in her husband's health."

"Now that the construction has commenced, it will be best if you come out to check on us periodically. I'm sure Lady Sybil will be more at ease."

Willikins surreptitiously glanced down at Sergeant Colon who had been making a show of delivering the latest order very slowly so as to cunningly overhear their conversation. Willikins continued.

"Is your research coming along well?"

Dr. Lawn remembered the depressingly antiquated books in the library. He put on a smile anyway.

"Oh yes there are many medical texts in Lady Sybil's collection that I have never had the pleasure of reading. They have been… informative. Now I must be getting back. Good luck with your project."

* * *

Vetinari had moved on again. The time he spent at each stop was slowly becoming shorter. He sat down and held the blackened book in his hands.

"Vimes, could you touch my back?"

"What are you going to do this time?"

"I'm going to try again."

"Shouldn't we be looking for that girl?"

"She will find me eventually, she always does."

Vimes sat down beside Vetinari and placed a hand on his back.

"Do your thing and let's get going."

"Just as a precaution, make sure you stay still while I do this."

"Fine, just be quick about it."

Vetinari closed his eyes and started opening windows in the fortress that surrounded his heart. He allowed some of his fondest memories spill out. He latched onto his feeling of selfishness, pure and clean. It was a selfishness without greed or arrogance, a moment he felt happy in being himself.

He thought of the smile on the beautiful and sincere girl he had come to love.

Havelock Vetinari opened his eyes and grinned.

"I didn't expect it to work," he said.

"Huh? It worked?"

He hand the newly inscribed book to Vimes.

"Lacemaking? You mean I've been carrying this thing around all this time and you chose to write a book on lace?"

"Do you really think I had a choice in the matter?"

* * *

Mrs. Cake sat grinning at Dr. Lawn who was angry as a wet ferret.

"You told someone else?" he said. "What do you think this is a fan club?"

"There just wasn't any other way," said Sybil.

"Like hell! You could have at least warned me."

"Oh, you could 'ave a year to prepare and still not be able to do anythin'," said Mrs. Cake.

"I could have refused to do this in the first place."

"Not you. You is a good man."

"Who are you to say if I'm a good man or not? I can be just as evil as Vetinari if I wanted to."

Mrs. Cake giggled. "Oi'm not so sure about that, some of these possible futures don't leave 'im in any state to do much evil anymore."

"Will you two shut up?" said Sybil.

"Oh just havin' a bit of fun, dear."

"Can you see my future, Mrs. Cake?" asked Sybil.

"Yes, and goin' to the wizards won't work, though it does lead to a rather humorous death."

Sybil shuddered.

"What do you think I should do then?"

"Oi can't tell you that. It'd be messin' with time."

"Maybe Time will show up if you irritate him enough," said Lawn.

Sybil glared at him.

"Well I don't see you having any ideas," said Lawn in his defense.

"There are so many people I could call up to kill you right now," said Sybil.

"Your 'usband's not gonna like that," warned Mrs. Cake.

"Just give me a hint then, something to go off of."

"Oi can't just tell you where to go. There's good outcomes in all different directions surrounded by death, more death, and not quite death. All that's clear is that there's a 'ole lot more life in the leg that don't got wizards in it.

"You can't find anything else?"

"They're all fuzzy! Oi tole you there's too many unknowns. Normally, there's a limit to what a person'll do in the future based on that person's moral code and past decisions, but those are washin' away. Vetinari's variables have increased too much, and that's sayin' something. That man's got a mind that Anoia could get lost in. There are more legs on these trousers than a million millipedes! There's even enough possibilities that there are futures where he does… well some uncharacteristic things to your 'usband."

Sybil decided to not ask about that.

"Damn it, so I have nothing to go on?"

"You could always poke Time's ribs until he shows up himself," said Lawn

"I'm not doing that!"

"Awe, there goes the one in the operatin' room of the 'ospital. You really ought to keep your bone saws locked up."

Both Sybil and Lawn cringed.

"Aren't you friends with some vampires? Can't they possess people?" she asked Mrs. Cake.

"That's demons and ghosts that do that." Lawn interjected.

"Oi'm not lettin' any of my ghosts into Vetinari's head. Chances are, they won't be coming out, that place is so twisted you'd have to find a ghost 'oo knows him well to navigate it."

"We could kill Drumknott," said Dr. Lawn.

Sybil smacked him. This was not a good day.

"No, no one is killing anyone!"

"Ooo, that's opened up lot of really crazy futures."

Sybil sighed. "Don't tell me we're going to have to kill someone to get my husband back."

"Maybe, but not many people become ghosts anyway," said Mrs. Cake. "To be a ghost, you gots to have, like, serious unfinished business, or a terrible revenge to take, or a cosmic purpose in which you are just a pawn."

"We could torture him first," said Lawn.

"Only if you're interested in what sort of monsters a group of igors can dream up," said Mrs. Cake.

Lawn mouthed something then stared at her, confused.

"How would—"

"Don't ask."

"I just can't win can I?" said Sybil.

"No one wins in life Sybil, it's a process, but Oi suggests you takes Young Sam to Hyde Park."

"Will that help?"

"It'll make 'im feel less useless, and a walk tends to clear the mind."

* * *

Vimes stared at the perpetually cloudy sky and wondered how much time had passed when the sun didn't exist.

"This must be the place people talk about when they say 'stick it where the sun don't shine.'"

"Inside a policeman's head? I can see how it would be a proper location to be banished to, especially if it's your head, Vimes."

He was going to counter that statement, but he couldn't argue with the truth.

"If it makes you feel any better Vimes," said Vetinari offhandedly. "The real location is a valley in Slice, near Lancre."

"I get it. You don't have to rub it in."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

Sam kicked halfheartedly at a stone on the road. The pressures of lost time were weighing heavily on him. He missed Sybil and Sam. He fretted over what might be going on at the watch house in his absence. Carrot could handle most things but…

Vimes sighed. There was nothing he could do about that. He was stuck here with Lord bloody Vetinari for gods know how long. For sanity's sake, it was best to keep his mind occupied on other things.

"Where did you get that clock?" asked Vimes.

"Clock?"

"The one outside your office."

"And why do you think I didn't get it from the clockmakers guild?"

"A clockmaker would have to be loony to make a clockwork that doesn't tell time properly. They're very picky about it as I've heard."

"That clock, Commander, was made by Leonard of Quirm."

"… Isn't he dead?" asked Vimes.

"No, that is just a rumor. I have Leonard under my protection at the palace. He is quite happy as my prisoner so to speak."

"You call him Leonard? You never call anyone by their first name. You must be very close to him."

Vetinari didn't answer. They walked in silence through the damp gray streets. Vimes sighed inwardly and brought up something that had been nagging him for years.

"My wife calls you Havelock."

Vetinari froze.

White clouds blazed in the sky. Incandescent mist dove and swirled through the air igniting the wind with a blinding light. The pale figures burst through every window, door, and crack. They poured down from the roofs and surged forward from the streets. There was nowhere to run.

_Damn it! _ Vimes grabbed Vetinari around the waist and ducked into the darkest shadow he could find. _Bugger it all to hell! Where are they all coming from? _

He thought of the black book and what Vetinari had said. He decided to take a reckless risk. He dug deep into his memory recalling moments of suppressed hatred and unfinished fights. He tried not to pay attention to the ones that had to do with the Patrician, but there were just too many.

_Vetinari said that those bastards weren't even supposed to be here! They're his not mine!_

Vimes felt the rage build inside him. He pulled out memories of crime scenes left unsolved and atrocities that should never have happened. He remembered the little girl over at Dolly Sisters, her body torn and desecrated. Here in his mind, where the boundaries and monotony of reality did not exist, the memories were clear.

He remembered the 25th of May.

_Someone has to remember the people who should not have had to die! They aren't happy but my memories are part of me. I will not let them get washed away!_

The ancient darkness stirred below his feet. He let it come to him.

_I never chose this. I didn't even get the illusion of a choice!_

He stood and the waves of white rushed towards them. The Summoning Dark wound itself around Vimes. He let it permeate his skin and coil around every muscle in his body. The hatred and anger fought to control him. He held it back and pulled the darkness around Vetinari just as the torrent struck them. The pressure was suffocating and the rage of the Summoning Dark pushed at him from inside. Vimes' own human anger was not strong enough.

_This is my city. No one will take it from me!_

He knew he would regret what he was about to do. He knew in his heart that it was wrong, but letting the flood of white drown him was worse. Fully aware, Samuel Vimes willingly let go of his inhibition. An intense rush of freedom shot through his body.

_Good Gods this feels amazing!_

It was common knowledge in the Watch that if you bent the rules too far Vimes would go spare, but there were only a few who knew what lay beyond. This was nothing like either. It was millions of years of exile and rage compacted into human form. The dense and heavy darkness restrained since ancient times broke free.

The remnants of shadows around Vimes exploded. They ripped through the ground arcing like lightning. The darkness fractured and spread into violent bolts that stretched beyond the rooftops. Vimes charged forward, sparks of new black ignited the cobbles with each step.

The white figures gathered together in opposition. This time they would not run away. The interloper had been allowed to survive for too long and now he thought this world was his.

Vimes pressed into the lurching crowd. It blocked him with the same buffeting power that had slowed him when he first arrived, but this time, the mob had a purpose, a single direction. Every figure knew the goal. This intruder wants to steal our world. He must be stopped.

The mist swarmed around Vimes burning his eyes and invading his lungs. He braced his legs and thrust the opposing white away from him with a crackling burning shock. Black smoke spiraled around him forming a circle and a tail. The Summoning Dark opened its eye.

Lost in a world of his own creation, Vimes had crossed the line he vowed to never pass. He filled himself with a murderous unrelenting rage. It smothered his thoughts and raced through his blood. Though it was excruciating, it left him with the feeling of complete purity. The darkness scoured him clean of all else until only the anger remained.

"I have my own mind, my own words! You think I'll just let you take my world from me? You have no right! You have no place here!"

He sent a deluge of pitch black lightning down on a group of furious ghosts. They scattered and rebounded peeling the gray off the walls to forge makeshift armor. Vimes' anger scorched them black shattering them in a shower of sparks. The white figures banded together for a charge. Vimes recalled moments of frustrating helplessness, times when all he could do was watch a disaster unfold. The Summoning Dark reeled itself out in front of him and deflected the worst of the attack.

"My words, My thoughts, My memories, My feelings, My wishes, My actions, My burdens, My treasures!"

Some opponents regrouped while others fled. Vimes triggered a fiery explosion centered on him. Darkness crackled forcefully outward sending white figures flying.

"MY LAWS!"

The remaining white ghosts cowered behind doors and windows. They hid in the places that did not exist in Vimes' mind. Faded and scared, a group of figures huddled together like a spotlight on a dark stage. The Summoning Dark pulled Vimes forward.

"Stop."

Vimes turned his head. The Patrician walked towards him.

"That is enough," he said calmly but firmly. "You have done more than enough." Vetinari moved to stand between Vimes and the pale ghostly bodies. He could see the black eye of the Summoning Dark glaring at him.

"Take my hand, Vimes."

The ubiquitous gray smog of Ankh-Morpork slithered around Vetinari. It clung to his legs and billowed with each step. The Summoning Dark pulled back.

"I have found someone here," said Vetinari. "He's been watching."

The haze moved up the Patrician's body and condensed in patches covering his clothes in gray. It morphed as it spread creating folds and textures. It flowed down his arm and dripped off the end of his long fingers.

The droplet splashed on the ground revealing the cobbles beneath. It was followed by another and then many more, each one washing away a tiny circle of black. The shower grew into rain falling in sheets. Gray storm clouds blanketed the city. From far away, faint growling of thunder cracked the stillness in the air.

Vetinari stood resolutely, the rain splattered on the helmet he wore. It flowed down his oiled leather coat and hit the thin glass of the watchman's lantern.

"You left me behind." Vetinari's voice was muffled by the rain, but Vimes could still hear him. The Patrician's eyes softened. "No, I am wrong aren't I? The Summoning Dark came when you called. That is all. You say that there is always the possibility to be dead wrong."

He bent down and took Vimes unresisting hand.

"But, it is encouraging to think that I may have been right all along."

The Summoning Dark detached itself from Vimes, rearing back and coiling to strike. Simultaneously, The Guarding Dark pushed away from Vetinari and lunged at it. The Summoning Dark was quicker. It dodged, shot past its attacker, and darted down an alley.

* * *

Lawn removed the ice from around Sam.

"I wonder why he got so hot all of a sudden."

"You probably wouldn't believe me even if I tole you," said Mrs. Cake.

* * *

"How far out of the city does this world go?" asked Vetinari.

"How should I know?"

"This is your mind after all. What place is farthest away from the city center?"

"Harry King has a new lot out past Deosil Gate, but I don't think you'd want to go there."

"Actually, that may be the ideal spot for me to do this." Vetinari chuckled.

"Do what?"

"It's hard to explain. I suppose it's almost like a ceremony."

They walked for a bit before turning onto King's Way. Vimes glanced behind him.

"They're following us, sir."

"As they should."

"They're getting closer."

"After that display, Vimes, they will keep their distance."

"One of them doesn't agree."

Vetinari stopped walking and slowly turned around. A genuine smile lit up his whole face. Sam had never seen the Patrician so purely happy. It was actually a bit creepy.

The white ghost approaching them was much smaller than the rest. Vetinari allowed it to catch up while the others stayed back. He took hold of the little figure's hand, or what looked like a hand at least.

"What _is_ that?"

The figure bounded over to Vimes and took his hand. The world shook. He could see her, a little girl no older than seven. Her whole body was china white and she wore a short grubby sundress. Her hair was long, snarly, and disturbingly unkempt. The whole left side of her head was matted. Vimes cringed. He had seen children like this before...

Vile memories surfaced of another little girl left broken and bleeding. And her shoe…

Vimes quickly glanced at the feet of the child beside him then shook the thought away. This wasn't like that. The porcelain girl smiled at him. Little girls were strange creatures to Vimes even at the best of times, but here…

"Just hold her hand. That's all she wants from you," said the Patrician.

Vetinari gingerly wrapped his hand around hers and set off walking again. Vimes couldn't help but glance furtively at the little girl between them skipping happily. She hadn't said a word which was perfectly fine since Vimes could think of nothing to talk to her about.

"Vimes?"

"Huh?"

"You made the Guarding Dark didn't you?"

"I must have."

There was a pause.

"I have also created a Dark."

Sam looked down at the little girl between them and put two and two together.

"She is the Weaving Dark," explained Vetinari.

Sam looked at the Patrician. It was obvious that he wasn't going to add anything to his revelation. His eyes were closed and he walked a bit behind. He was allowing them to guide him.

"What are you doing, sir?"

"I'm sorting."

Vimes looked back at the lurching ghosts following them. They were no longer in a mindless clump but had separated into groups. He hadn't noticed before, but the white figures all had certain different characteristics. They were grouping together forming organic bundles of similar shapes.

The three of them passed the gates into Harry King's recycling facility. Harry King had a use for everything. He had made his fortune collecting night soil from businesses and selling it to tanners and farmers. Now he employed an army of workers to bring in the piss and sort the trash for him.

Vetinari let go of the Weaving Dark and stopped in a relatively clear area surrounded by hills of rubbish.

"Perfect." He said with the same smile he had worn before. "Even the air feels right… or rather everything is completely wrong and foreign, but that is the point."

He stepped into the very center of the valley of paper waste and turned to Vimes.

"This will take some time. You might as well relax a bit. Ah, and try not to attack me while I do this. I know you hate me, but just this once, I would be grateful if you didn't."

Vetinari closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. Considering the kinds of things in the lot, it probably would have killed him if this were real.

The Weaving Dark sat cross-legged on the ground and tugged at Vimes' arm. He hesitantly sat down beside her. The girl grinned and immediately scrambled into his lap. Vimes pulled his body away and froze completely bewildered.

_Girls aren't like boys. What the hell am I supposed to do?_

The Weaving Dark produced a string from her pocket and leaned back on Vimes. Sam bent further in response and fell over backward. The girl laughed or more accurately, her face laughed, but no sound came out. She scooted over and sat in front of Vimes. She took his hands and positioned them like a mannequin. She tied the string to make a loop and wound it around his fingers in a strange pattern.

"What is this?" He asked her. She smiled in response but said nothing.

The girl directed Vimes' attention to her own hands. She pinched parts of the string and turned it around slipping it off his fingers at the same time. A different pattern showed.

Vimes had a moment of recollection. He remembered how the young girls on Cockabill Street had played with strings like this. Of course back then he had much more important things on his mind, but at least he knew the concept. He couldn't remember what the game was called or if there were any rules. The whole thing had just seemed pointless to him.

The Weaving Dark continued to teach Vimes the inexplicably complicated movements. He began to doubt if this actually was a game and not just a trick to make him feel inferior to a seven year old girl. His frustration made her giggle silently.

Eventually the finger movements became easier. The little girl deemed him adequately competent at the string game and gave him a proud nod. Vimes smiled awkwardly. He was completely unprepared for the zealous hug that she gave him next. It was peculiar, not at all like his son's hugs. This one seemed desperate and sad. Vimes' mind raced. He'd never been hugged by a little girl before. Most of them stared at him with unconcealed terror. He decided to play it safe and gave her a kind pat on her back.

This seemed to satisfy the Weaving Dark and she got up to check on Vetinari. Vimes stayed on the ground and tried not to blush.

_What was…I don't even… Why the hell would…?_


	7. Chapter 7

Corporal Ping had managed to get some legitimate work done on the shifting drainpipe. He dusted off his hands proudly and carefully leaned over the edge.

"Dorfl?" he called down.

"Yes Sir?"

"I'm hungry."

"Shall I Alert The Media?"

"Hell no, what are you crazy? That's the whole point of me doing this is to not attract that kind of attention."

Dorfl sighed as well as a golum could.

"What Do You Want, Sir?"

"Make me a sandwich."

"No."

"I'm your commanding officer you have to do what I say now make me a sandwich."

"You Are Not My Commanding Officer."

"That sounds like insubordination. I'm Mister Vimes now and you have to treat me like him."

"Yes Sir, But I Am Not Your Butler, Willikins Is. You Will Have To Ask Him Directly."

Ping thought about it for a moment. He glanced over at Willikins. He shivered and got back to work.

* * *

Vetinari was finally ready. The white figures undulated in neatly separated sections. They ran in single file lines through the openings between the mounds of waste.

"Vimes, I need you to help with the weaving. I can finish this in half the time that way."

"Weaving? You want me to knit you a scarf or did you bring me here to darn your socks?"

"I only ask you to assist the Weaving Dark in her task. She will need you to spool the threads, keep them bound until she has time to get to them."

"Fault me for trying, sir, but is there any chance you might, oh I don't know… tell me what the hell you're doing!" said Vimes. He glared at Vetinari.

"No."

"You're damn well going to tell me! I've gone along with all this insanity on good faith or at least something roughly equivalent. I'm not going to let you dismiss me like you've done so many times before."

"There are some things that mustn't be shared."

"You gave up you're right to secrecy the moment you touched my hand. You said you trust me! I protected you and after that incident on the tower, I even made it a point to stop myself from hurting you. That isn't easy even back in the real world. I have a right to know what's going on in my own mind! This isn't your Ankh-Morpork, its mine, and in my world, you have to follow my laws."

The Patrician scowled. Vimes stared back equally determined. With Nobby filching speed, he grabbed Vetinari by his collar and pulled him forward. Nose to nose they glared at each other. The sky darkened and the white figures stirred anxiously. Neither man moved.

"Tell me something." Vimes whispered. "Who will you go to the next time this happens?"

Vetinari's mask of calm didn't falter. He remained silent. The white ghosts grew increasingly restless. Vimes pushed on mercilessly.

"Why does my wife call you Havelock?"

Vetinari turned his head away from Vimes' gaze but to his credit, did not fall down this time. The white figures crept closer, surrounding them.

"Back off!" Vimes barked at the imposing figures. They stopped. "Maybe a better question is: why does she still call you Havelock?"

Vetinari pushed Vimes away with all the strength he could muster and dropped to one knee breathing heavily. The figures started closing in again.

"I said sod off!" Vimes shouted.

Vetinari stared blankly at the ground. "Lady Sybil calls me Havelock simply because she wants to," he said quickly.

Vimes glared at Vetinari distrustfully. "I thought you said you couldn't lie here. You wouldn't have reacted so strongly if that were true."

"It is true. I never asked her to use my first name, but I can't bring myself to tell her to stop when it's the only thing that proves that I'm not just the Patrician to her."

The air froze. Vetinari shut his eyes. The grey world wrenched the truth out of him. It wasn't fair.

"Whenever she calls me that, I think about all the things I don't have."

Vimes' anger blazed into a sudden inferno. The world darkened ominously and black lightning erupted from the ground around him. Vetinari had exploited him, but this… This was so much more.

Vimes lunged at Vetinari knocking him to the ground and pinned him face down with a practiced movement. He was breathing heavily with barely contained rage.

"YOU STAY AWAY FROM MY WIFE!"

The Summoning Dark rose from the ground, drawn to the tantalizing spike of anger. The Guarding Dark was not far behind.

"THAT'S WHY YOU PROMOTED ME? YOU WANTED TO GET CLOSER TO HER!

"No, that's not…"

The Guarding Dark lit his lantern but it was not enough. This time the Summoning Dark was ready. It fed off of the fury and grew stronger. Its tail lashed out at the Guardian. He dodged and brought down his sword but it was useless. The Weaving Dark stood behind him trying to hold back the white masses that rushed towards them.

"You could have married her before me, BUT I'm just part of your bloody puzzle! What's the point in having her if there's no CHALLENGE?"

"She was…" Vetinari froze, his eyes glazed over.

The Patrician absorbed Vimes' hatred. He had miscalculated the power of the distilled anger that he had in abundance amplified by the fact that Vimes didn't tire in his own mind. He could do nothing to stop him. Vetinari's eyes closed and he went limp.

"YOU'VE BEEN WATCHING HER ALL ALONG! I KNOW YOU TALK WITH HER BEHIND MY BACK! YOU'VE BEEN MANIPULATING HER JUST LIKE YOU MANIPULATE ME!"

The white storm returned with vengeance devouring everything in its path. The Weaving Dark's power had as much effect as blowing bubbles at a charging lion. The Guarding Dark pushed her behind him and met the wave of pale bodies head on. He attacked with the same strength of will that Sam would use to protect his son. The Weaving Dark darted forward and tried to help the Patrician but Vimes did not see her. The Summoning Dark had taken ahold of him.

"YOU THINK IF YOU BERATE ME ENOUGH, YOU'LL BREAK ME? YOU SEND ME ON DANGEROUS MISSIONS HOPING I'LL DIE!"

Vimes' pure human rage resisted the Summoning Dark's demand for immediate death. To Vimes, simply killing Vetinari would not be enough.

"WAKE UP AND FACE ME, YOU COWARD!" Vimes roared. His fist hit Vetinari with all the pent up rage gathered over years of deprecation and criticism. "YOU USED ME! YOU MONSTER!"

And, for one hideous moment Vimes became more than the Dark. He assailed the limp body breaking bones and leaving deep gouges in the skin. Vetinari did not scream. He did not try to defend himself. He knew it was useless.

* * *

"Oh shit! Lawn!"

"This had better not—"

"This is important! Get me a bed sheet now! Two doors on your left!"

"Should I fetch some hot water too?"

"Just get the damn sheet!"

Mrs. Cake ran to the balcony doors and opened them demurely.

"Willikins?" she asked politely and smoothly, "would you be so kind as to come in and help me with a little something?" Mrs. Cake's usual accent didn't allow for such flowery pleasantries except for when communication is of utmost importance. Willikins got the hint and walked casually to the back door of the house, closed it, and ran like a cat on fire up to the library. Mrs. Cake met him in the hall.

"String, ribbons, anything you can tie in a knot! As much as you can! Yes! Five Minutes!"

Willikins only took a second to rearrange his questions to fit with her precognitive answers. He dropped his garrote and bolted up the stairs to the attic. Sybil skidded on the rug outside the room and didn't even take a step before Mrs. Cake gave her orders.

"Get Young Sam and bring him here! Tell Lawn the white sheet not the pink one!"

Mrs. Cake's mind raced and spun calculating possible paths to this unexpected change in the timeline. She frantically dug through bits of time searching for one that had the possibility of not ending in a tear in the fabric of reality or something much worse. Actually, just having both of them die at this moment was better than half the other outcomes.

Lawn rushed into the room.

"Spread it out on them! Get rid of every pen in this room! Leave the pencils!"

Sybil returned with Young Sam.

"Oh, Sybil, I can't do this there are too many—Lettuce! Any kind of vegetable! Not Cabbage!

"Sam, you have a sailor toy, get rid of it! Your dad's in trouble! Then run and get the newspaper from the lavatory!"

Sam nodded.

Willikins rushed into the room carrying a box of Hogswatch ribbons, crochet yarn, mending string, a measuring tape, the tassels off a curtain, a basket of thread, a bolt of fine wire, and five pairs of lady Sybil's stockings.

"That's not enough!"

Willikins disappeared.

"Lawn, tie those strings to Vimes. Anywhere you can tie a string to!"

"Where?" asked Dr. Lawn before realizing he had already gotten the answer.

Mrs. Cake's ears were practically spewing smoke. She clapped her hands over them as much to stop the smoke as to fend off sensory overload.

"Damn it! Nothin' makes sense! Oi can't see quick enough!"

Then a new route appeared.

"Get me booze Sybil, as much as you can carry! Not zinfandel or anything from Quirm!"

Sam ran back into the room with the times.

"Go get… go… You have rat poop in your room? Don't answer that. Just go get it!"

Willikins ran into the room with ten feet of rope, six bootlaces, a clothes line, a dog leash, and an armful of lace trim.

"Lace perfect! Lawn focus on tyin' the lace! Get the dog leash on but chuck the shoestrings. Willikins, you help too."

"Argh Sybil, you're too much of a wild card, too many variables! Put down the alcohol quick and wait in the hall. Lawn grab the olive book in the second shelf of the bookcase left of the fireplace and give it to Sybil. Sam, take off your socks and shoes. Lawn, do the same for Vimes. Sybil, take the book and read it in the chintz chair by the window in the next room. Willikins get rid of those swords on the wall and close the door. Sam, throw that narwhal out the window, now!

Tick.

* * *

Tick…

Everything stopped.

He was bound, frozen in mid punch. The rage disappeared like smoke leaving only emptiness behind. The strength was sapped from every muscle in his body and he fought to stay awake. Not like this. It wasn't supposed to end like this. In his muddled senses, He heard something else.

_Is that my breath? Why does it sound so far away?_

He only had strength enough to move his eyes. Countless threads restrained him. He felt someone's arms around him, firm and unwavering. He saw a little girl, melting like a candle, the stubs of her fingers weaving desperately, her eyes sealed shut. She was leaning fearfully on the body of the man holding him back.

He looked beyond them. There was nothing, no color or light, just endless nonexistence that extended outside the walls of infinity.

He looked past the beaten body below him. The only thing that separated them from the void was a circular black cloud of mist. The silence beat down on him.

_So this is it. This is how it ends, surrounded by oblivion and accompanied by the dead._

One of the threads holding him up snapped. His hand fell, but it caught on another string and stopped just above the other man's battered face.

Not knowing why, he strained to force his fingers to move. He needed to touch him, and then everything would be peaceful. Everything would disappear.

But the strings restrained him. His face contorted with guilt and fear. He parted his lips to form words that no one could hear.

0

Mrs. Cake screamed as the array of possible futures crumbled. Potential moments in time were snuffed in waves like a gust of wind over a rack of veladora candles, a tiny prayer disappearing with each one.

"NO! Nononononono—"

The house of cards was toppling. Time was running out and nothing made any sense. Then something worse happened. Mrs. Cake's premonitions blurred with blue static.

"GOD'S DAMN IT!"

"Your ears are bleeding," said Dr. Lawn.

"SHUT UP YOU PONCE!"

Mrs. Cake was forced to shut down her precognition and start it up again. It hurt like someone had kicked her in the head with a boot. The possible outcomes flickered back on in her mind. There were precious few left and more were disappearing each second. In a burst of clarity, Mrs. Cake noticed a hint of a pattern. Some futures were surviving fractionally longer than others.

"Ah ha! It's um… argh Oi can't see them quick enough. Sam!"

She looked at Young Sam in a last desperate hope.

"Do somethin', Sam! Oi don't know what you're supposed to do, but you got to do it now!"

Young Sam blinked and without even consulting his brain, he did what he had been doing before the interruption. He scrambled under the sheet and lay down between Vimes and Vetinari. He rested his head on his father's arm and took hold of the Patrician's sleeve. He put his thumb in his mouth and closed his eyes.

"She didn't mean that!" said Dr. Lawn. "You can't sleep there, you might never wake up!"

"Don't touch 'im, Mossy! He's openin' up new futures."

The drastic loss of timelines had slowed significantly. Mrs. Cake knew that Young Sam couldn't keep touching them for much longer, but right now he was buying her some time to think. She hated endangering a child like this, but there were no other options left.

"Willikins, roll Sam closer to the Patrician… keep your hands on him. Be ready to pull him away when I says to."

The trousers of time stabilized.

* * *

Tick…

In the void between lies and truth, a man floated, held in place by thousands of spectral threads that extended into oblivion.

Awareness passed through him.

_I'm me._

In the silence, a low brief note passed through his consciousness.

The sound echoed back.

_I belong to me._

The tone came to him again.

It echoed back.

_Sam. _

He heard the sound again.

_Is that my name?_

The echo came quicker this time.

_Where am I?_

Note and echo.

_I need somewhere to be._

Note and echo.

A thin film of grey formed below him.

_That's not enough._

Note, echo.

The grey thickened and spread. The strings around him started to snap.

Note, echo.

_What's that noise?_

For the first time, Sam noticed the body below him. The grey grew around the man like a wicker cradle.

_I know him… but… he isn't me. Who would be here other than me?_

The sound came quicker. The grey grew stronger. It spread out in quivering strands and started distinguishing areas of lighter grey.

"Havelock…"

_Is that my voice? I think it is. Who's else could it be? Maybe it's his._

"Havelock, say something."

A new sound appeared, slightly lower than the other.

"Is that sound yours? I don't think you're doing it right. It's supposed to echo."

The new sound echoed.

"See, I told you it would."

The strings slowly gave way on Sam's left side until his shoulder touched the ground.

"Hey, Havelock, I moved… I think you're supposed to make that sound again, just sayin'."

Havelock's heart beat again. More strings snapped.

"I moved again. You should try it. It's kind of fun."

"No." Havelock said.

"Ah so I'm not crazy. This must be my voice, because you just talked."

The heartbeats became louder.

"Shut up, Sam. I hurt."

"Oh, now that you mention it, these strings hurt too. They're cutting into my skin. Listen, the heartbeats are steady now."

"Forgive me if I withhold my enthusiasm."

The last of the strings snapped. Sam fell. Havelock screamed.

"What happened? What's wrong?"

"Get off me you bastard!"

"I don't think I can do that. I'm out of string."

"You had better learn fast!"

Sam tried moving.

"Hah, it worked. I'm getting good at this being alive thing."

"You're still on me."

"Just a little. Does it hurt?"

"No, just don't move."

The two stayed silent for a while, neither could tell how long.

"Havelock?"

"What?"

"Do you feel better?"

"No."

"Anything I can do about that?"

"You can shut up."

Something passed.

"Havelock?"

"If you talk to me one more time, Sam, I will hurt you."

Something passed that was very similar to the last something.

"I'm bored."

Havelock screamed.

"I don't think you should try that again," said Sam.

"Thank you, Sam. I'll keep that in mind."

"... I'm sorry," said Sam. He touched his head to Havelock's arm.

"I assure you, I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Hey, I thought you couldn't lie!"

"Don't tell me what I can and cannot do."

Sam was pretty sure that it was time that was passing. It felt a bit like time.

_That's got to be it. I think I remember time being important._

"Havelock?"

"What!"

"Wasn't there someone else with us?"

There was another pause. It really felt like time.

"The Weaving Dark." Havelock replied softly.

"But, there was someone else."

"I remember the Summoning Dark was there."

"I don't think I remember that one," said Sam.

"It was there, believe me, and I didn't see anyone else."

Time definitely passed.

"The Guarding Dark," Sam whispered.

The broken strings around them began to move and change. They slithered off his body and joined together in vague clusters.

"I don't think that's supposed to happen." Sam commented.

"What are you talking about? I can't see."

"The threads are… doing… something."

"That's very descriptive, Sam."

"Now, I know that's a lie. Why are all…"

Suddenly Sam started choking and shivering, fighting for breath, as his strength drained from his body. His finger nails dug deep into Havelock's side and he screamed in agony. From the fallen threads, The Weaving Dark stitched herself into existence. Havelock opened his eyes and gazed softly at the little bone white girl with matted hair.

"You came back," he whispered.

She smiled weakly as her knitting slid around him like a comforting scarf. Havelock let the cool fabric soothe his wounds. He gasped and everything became clear. The buildings and streets of Ankh-Morpork suddenly burst into the existence with a blazing white light. Vetinari froze in terror as The Palace emerged behind him shining white.

"This is my mind." Vetinari said horrified.

Strengthened by the restored world, the Weaving Dark redoubled her knitting speed so that her hands were barely visible. Her melting body had mostly solidified and was now slowly regaining shape. The light shined intensely. There were no shadows here, only subtle shades of white delineated the positions of the houses.

"I shouldn't be here."

The soft cloth of the Weaving Dark nuzzled his skin causing all his wounds to start disappearing. She ended it sufficiently satisfied at his rate of recovery. She quickly gathered the black threads that had fallen off of Vimes and began to carefully interlace them.

"Vimes?" said Vetinari.

Vimes answered him with a cough and a weak groan.

All at once, the glaring light retreated to a more subtle glow. Grey lines etched themselves into the buildings and streets. The world inside Vetinari's head looked like an intricate pencil drawing; each detail preserved, yet could be erased and changed at any time.

Vimes clutched Vetinari's arm feebly. The heating blanket effect of touch worked both ways but he could barely keep his eyes open. Vimes struggled to breathe through the pain. His skin was covered in crosshatched cuts left by the binding thread. They had sliced through his clothes leaving them tattered.

Vimes closed his eyes and remained motionless. He could feel the presence of the Summoning Dark press on his mind as it was woven into existence behind him.

"It's gone isn't it?" said Vetinari.

The Weaving Dark looked down and nodded. "I'm sorry," she said, "it was all I could do! I saw an opportunity and I took it. I was afraid we would all die if I didn't."

"You did what you had to," said Vetinari. "You don't have to apologize for saving us."

"Yes I do," she said shamefully. "I exploited Young Sam doing this! I put him in danger. I don't even know what will happen to him!"

Vetinari glared at her coldly. Vimes' eyes snapped open.

"WHAT!" Vimes shouted then choked. His body hurt worse than hell.

"We don't use children Weaving Dark. Never," Vetinari said firmly.

"You think I don't know that!" she answered. "I wouldn't have done it if it wasn't an emergency!"

Vimes' hatred bubbled over. He tried to get up and failed. He resorted to grabbing Vetinari's ear and neck. His fingernails dug into the soft flesh.

"You depraved psychopath! Now you've taken advantage of my son? How much of my life do you plan on destroying before you're satisfied?"

Blood welled up under Vimes' nails and trickled down Vetinari's neck. The Summoning Dark floated wearily above them gathering its lost strength from the force of Vimes' anger.

"I'm sorry…" muttered Vetinari with genuine remorse.

"Sorry isn't enough! What makes you think I'm going to just let you take my world from me?"

Vimes' shifted closer. His fingers wrapped around his throat and squeezed, but Vetinari didn't fight back. He closed his eyes and moved his hand up to touch Vimes' face.

"There is nothing left… You're already dead. Your mind doesn't exist anymore."

Vimes let go of his grip and yanked Vetinari's hand away.

"That doesn't make sense! My mind has to exist or else I couldn't be here thinking about my mind not existing!"

"You're only here because the Summoning Dark wants you to stay alive."

"Well, you can tell the Summoning Dark to stick it where the sun don't shine."

The black mist around Vimes' body sparked soundlessly. With the situational awareness of a randy dog, the Weaving Dark giggled.

"It says that it's always where the sun don't shine."

* * *

.

This chapter was so fun to write!


	8. Chapter 8

"This is enough!" shouted Sybil. "Drumknott can't talk out his arse on this one! They almost died!"

"Or worse. They could have _not_ died! Failin' to live in an un-death like way. The 'ole disk could have stopped working!" Mrs. Cake was trying to cool her head with a washcloth. She had never needed to use so much of her power like this.

"This secrecy tactic isn't working anymore," continued Sybil. "I didn't want to make a scene but we can't let this go any further. Drumknott is going to give me the whole story. Just my existence is a threat to his position. Perhaps it's time for me to remind him of that fact."

"Be careful," Dr. Lawn interjected. "The Patrician's disappearance has caused a disruption in the balance of power in the city. If you confront Drumknott now then Sir Samuel's absence could be revealed too. He is an influential public figure. He can't stay here just working on traps anymore if there's a power struggle."

"Corporal Ping isn't a good enough double for that." Willikins said.

"I don't care anymore! I'd rather tell the city Sam's missing than watch him die!" said Sybil. "_I_ need to be seen. I can make people remember that I'm just as powerful as Sam is."

"Oi hate to say this dear but you're way more powerful than your 'usband. You just don't brag." Mrs. Cake said.

"Well then I will brag! Recklessness always seems to work for Moist von Lipwig."

"Are you going to put on a golden gown then?"

"Sod off, Lawn."

"He has a point, dear," said Mrs. Cake. "Lipwig's a master of makin' a scene. Take some of 'is ideas. It's not like you need to back 'em up. Vetinari's not actually dead."

"I don't know, some of that man's tactics are questionable," Willikins added.

"I can make a scene without involving myself in criminal activities, thank you, but I'll need you two to go make Drumknott talk, Willikins. Go with Mrs. Cake and give Havelock's clerk a little motivation. While you're at the palace, I'll head to the bank and mix things up there."

Even before Mrs. Cake and Willikins had left the room, Sybil turned her attention to the doctor.

"You make sure to keep them hydrated."

Lawn glared. "I know how to take care of coma patients. You've only given me one job to do all day. Do you truly think I could screw this up?"

"Sam told me you were slacking."

Lawn glared at Young Sam.

"Just because you helped me once doesn't mean I couldn't have done it myself."

Young Sam hid behind his mother. Sybil knelt down.

"I'm counting on you to keep the doctor honest. Make sure he keeps them safe."

"You're asking a six-year-old to supervise me? That's degrading."

* * *

Outside, Ping watched Mrs. Cake and Willikins leave in the carriage. He walked over to Dorfl.

"I wonder what's going on. Maybe we should check in on Lawn just in case."

"No. They Would Have Told Us If We Could Be Of Any Assistance. We Should Just Keep With The Task At Hand."

"But what if they just forgot about us and we really can help?"

"Lady Sybil Does Not Forget Assets. You Should Get Back To Work."

Corporal Ping grabbed the next blueprint with irritated reluctance. Even though he was technically Mr. Vimes, he still didn't get any respect. How did the Commander do it?

"You're not an asset. You're an ass hat," he grumbled and plodded off into the back yard.

At that moment, Adora Bell Dearheart arrived at the gate. Dorfl cringed as much as a man made of clay could cringe. He hurried and cut her off from entering the house.

"Hello Mrs. Dearheart Is There Anything I Can Do For You?"

She puffed a trail of smoke at him. It drifted lazily past his eye sockets completely unnoticed.

"I'm looking for Vimes. He's inside isn't he?"

Golems aren't able to lie. It's part of the holy message in their heads. Dorfl however didn't have one. He had purchased himself and so the receipt lay there instead. Dorfl owned himself and could order himself to lie. It's one of the great loopholes in life that politicians love so much.

"He Isn't Here."

Dearheart glared at him. She always glared. It was her natural state of being.

"You are not to lie to me Dorfl. You owe me a great deal. I know when you're lying."

"I Will Help You To Find Him If You Wish."

He dodged away from the accusation. She tapped her nail against the cigarette.

"You know where he is already."

Adora stepped around him and spotted Commander Vimes' helmet beyond a hedge. She walked towards it. Dorfl got in her way again.

"He's Gone To The Palace. He Said Something About Straightening Out Some Rumors."

"Oh he has, has he? There are some nasty lies flying around. Some of them have even gotten into your skull."

Adora tapped her finger between the golem's eyes and walked around him. She stepped behind the hedge to where Ping was a moment ago.

"Commander Vimes?"

Corporal Ping was gone.

Adora Belle Dearheart spun on her impressive heels and faced Dorfl. In the process, she dug deep puncture wounds in the sod.

"I saw him. You are not going to stop me. I want my answers."

Her heels impaled the soft ground as she stomped off into the backyard.

"When I find that man, he won't be a man much longer."

Ping screeched and jumped up from behind a stone cherub.

"I'm not him! I'm not him! Don't hurt me!"

Adora scowled and shoved Ping over into the fountain.

"Huh, so you weren't lying," she said to Dorfl.

"I Did Attempt To Explain."

Adora placed her boot firmly on the ledge at the base of the fountain and adeptly tipped Ping back into the water as he struggled to stand.

"So then where's the real one?"

She pushed Ping over again.

"Stop that!" Ping sputtered.

"Oh keep floundering you red herring."

Adora grabbed Ping's mask and yanked hard. The cheap elastic band snapped in the back and stung his face with a long red mark.

"Commander Vimes Is Addressing The Cause Of Some Rumors."

"You said he was at the palace. A lot of crap comes from there these days. I wouldn't be surprised if this whole fiasco was the Patrician's idea of a joke."

"His Lordship Is A Complex Man."

"You and I should pay him a visit. That is if he hasn't kidnapped the Chairman for ransom or something equally preposterous. Who is coming up with all these stories?"

As they turned the corner onto the street, Dorfl glanced back. Corporal Ping dashed through the servant's entrance and into the mansion. He ran through the halls until he found Sybil.

"Um, ma'am—"

"Ping, I need you and Dorfl to help with something," interrupted Sybil.

Corporal Pin saluted. "Dorfl left ma'am. Some lady showed up and took him away."

Ping hurried to follow Lay Sybil as she rushed through the house.

"Did you get a name?"

"Dorfl called her Dearheart."

"How convenient," said Sybil with a sly grin. "Now I have a reason to be angry at Moist."

"Um, you mean the postmaster?"

"The very one. Now, grab two buckets of water and some rags. Meet me out back by the storage shed and start cleaning. It should be under a green tarp. The horse livery should be in one of the wooden crates."

When Sybil appeared at the gate stables she was wearing the most beautiful shimmering ball gown. It was silver and shone like a pile of spoons in the light of a nuclear bomb. Ping stared with his mouth open. He dropped the rag.

"Um. You look—"

"Help me get this on the horse and we'll get going."

"We?" Ping grabbed the regalia and got to work.

"Yes, you're coming with me."

"I still have the mask if you need it. It's just that Dearheart tore it off."

"Actually, the costume would be bad for my plan. It's best you keep it off," said Sybil. She took the horse's reins. "Get behind me. I'm going for a dramatic entrance. Maybe I can out dazzle Anhk-Morpork's golden boy."

"You mean Harry King, the bloke who does recycling? They call him the King of the Golden River."

"That's a horrible nickname and no, I meant Moist von Lipwig."

The horse pulled forward. Sybil was driving a chariot.

* * *

Young Sam was feeling distinctly odd. Something seemed to be plugging his ears ever since he had helped stabilize his father. His thoughts were blurry and he couldn't even understand what it was that he was thinking. He sat down next to Vimes' body and held his hand until the weight vanished.

The Guarding Dark awoke and immediately screamed. It was a high piercing relentless scream that you only hear when the wife has just found the dead body. He gasped for breath and started screaming again.

Young Sam threw a pillow at his head. It sat there on his face blocking his vision. The Guarding Dark took in panicked gulps of air. He couldn't move a muscle which played second fiddle to the realization that he couldn't feel his body. Then those facts were shuffled to the back of the percussion section as he recalled what had happened, but all that was kicked out the back of the concert hall and sent on an impromptu tour of Klatch when he worked out the only possible place he could be.

The Guarding Dark screamed louder.

Dr. Lawn burst through the door. He skidded to his knees beside Vimes' body and attempted to calm the man down. It took a lot of coaxing. There was a troubled moment there when Lawn tried to take the pillow off and the scream turned into an earsplitting screech. Eventually the cries stopped and Young Sam took his fingers out of his ears. Dr. Lawn sighed in relief.

"Care to tell me why you're suddenly a banshee, Vimes?" he asked.

"I'm not a banshee… I'm not Sam for that matter," said the Guarding Dark fearfully.

"You're sure as spit not Vetinari. Who are you then?"

"I'm the Guarding Dark. I protect Sam from himself… I tried to at least."

* * *

Mrs. Cake and Willikins were sitting side by side in the driver's seat of the carriage. They had hit a bit of traffic on the way to the palace but it had cleared up and they were well on their way.

"Hold up. There's somethin' going on," said Mrs. Cake.

"This is Ankh-Morpork. There is always something going on. We need to get to the palace."

"Not anymore we don't."

She yanked the reins away from Willikins and set the horses down a side street with an uncharacteristic amount of finesse.

"I thought he would be at the palace," said Willikins. "There's no reason for him to leave especially now with all the rumors."

"Says you. Drumknott's gettin' away. He's def'nitely out and about. Hop to it." She cracked the reins and the horses sped off as quickly as they could in the crowded afternoon streets. "We have to catch 'im before he gets to where he's goin'."

"And that is?"

"Gimmie a second to divine that. Roight now, Oi just know we need to stop 'im or else the futures don't add up to much if you catch my drift."

"Quite clear madam. Can you tell where he is right now?"

"Hush, Oi'm thinkin'."

Mrs. Cake's face screwed up like she had been attacked by bees. She thrust her fingers in her ears. Willikins snatched up the reins. An array of new futures spread out before her unexpectedly complex and unnavigable.

"Oh no," Mrs. Cake thought out loud. "That idiot! Why does everythin' have to be so complicated? Damn it, Oi think he's going to the University!"

She took back the reins and pushed the horses faster.

"Drumknott isn't the type of man to get along with wizards," said Willikins. "Could he be going anywhere else?"

"Well, yes. Could be goin' anywhere from the Tump to Dolly Sisters. Nap Hill any the guilds, Sator Square, Plaza of Broken Moons. The list just keeps goin'."

"But the biggest draw in that part of the city is the University."

"Got it in one. Problem is that no good'll come from wizards. It rarely does. If we get there first and cut 'im off before he gets their attention, then things might go better. Otherwise Oi can't promise the dungeon dimension won't get involved."

"And if it turns out he really isn't going off to see the wizards, then the University is still a central point to track him from."

"Sharp as a stick you are."

"Give me the reins back."

"Heck no, this is fun!"

Mrs. Cake drove the carriage up onto the sidewalk to avoid colliding with a cart full of chickens. People scattered. Willikins covered his eyes as she narrowly missed running into a troll.

"The watch has a traffic division now you know!" he shouted over the sound of the wheels on the broken cobbles.

"Bah, Fred and Knobby are off gettin' stuff on that list remember? They'll be too busy."

"It's expanded beyond just two officers."

"Roight then, better turn my precognition back on so is Oi see 'em comin'." She smacked the side of her head. "Of course it has. I'm not daft. There's more 'an one setting."

Willikins raised an eyebrow before he realized what it was he was supposed to say. He couldn't risk not asking now that she had already answered.

"You've been dodging carts and people. Hasn't your precognition been on this whole time?"

Willikins had the urge to ask for the reins back again, but decided not to say anything. The more he said, the more he would have to think about saying. Mrs. Cake drove like crazy, but she hadn't run into anything yet. They careened onto the New Bridge.

"Brass Bridge is blocked. It'll be easier to pass through the guilds," said Mrs. Cake.

"Why are we going this way?"

Willikins reversed the order of the conversation.

"Yeah you do that," she answered prematurely.

"I'm just going to keep my mouth shut," Willikins grumbled.

Mrs. Cake barreled down Peach Pie Street and turned into a tiny alley towards Sator Square. It was barely wide enough for the coach. Boxes and carelessly discarded rubbish were devoured by the speeding wheels.

"That door the bluish gray one on the right, shoot it with your crossbow."

Willikins didn't bother asking why or how she knew that he had a crossbow with him. He followed the order. A man stepping through the doorway found his nose a hair's breadth from a quivering crossbow bolt and fainted, falling backwards into his shop. Mrs. Cake cracked the reins and safely ran through the space that the man would have been standing if he had taken another step out his door.

"He's not goin' to Dolly Sisters or the guilds. Roight now the best would be if he was goin' to Mort Lake, but that sure as hell ain't gonna happen. He's goin' to the wizards."

The carriage burst out at the end of the narrow alley like a cork from a popgun and took a sharp turn. Mrs. Cake directed the horses skillfully, avoiding obstacles as they tore along the back wall of the University.

"Sugar! He's gotten to Sator square!"

Willikins had never actually heard anyone use the word sugar as a swearword before.

Mrs. Cake's precognition alerted her to an oncoming farm cart and she swerved onto another road that was not a direct route. The cobbles were in disrepair and Willikins could barely see where they were going because of all the shaking.

"Doesn't look like he's gonna stop at the main university building, but there's loads of others. If he stops at the High Energy Magic Building then we're gonna get a burnin' swath of superheated magic all the way back to the Ramkin Estate."

Mrs. Cake emerged into Sator Square which was busier than her premonitions had hinted at.

"Hold on to your britches, kid," said Mrs. Cake deftly avoiding a head on collision with a small herd of cattle.

The wheels kicked up sparks after she executed a masterful evasive maneuver between a group of industrious beggars and a well-to-do elderly couple. The wind behind them kicked off the old man's top hat which was quickly snagged out of the air by a merchant who added it to his stock with impressive nonchalance.

Mrs. Cake hauled on the reins and brought the carriage to a jarring halt. She turned the cart the wrong direction.

"That's why," she said.

"Why are we going this way?"

Willikins turned dizzily towards where Mrs. Cake was looking. Drumknott was standing in front of the Royal Bank of Ankh-Morpork.

"This can't be good."

* * *

Samuel lay on the ground groaning in pain and exasperation. Trying to move had given him a bad turn of vertigo and getting up at this point seemed impossible.

"How are you standing when I can't even feel my toes?" asked Vimes.

"Karma," said Vetinari flatly. "Now lie there and let me help you. I will not let you die when the Weaving Dark put so much effort into saving you."

Vetinari sat down so that his back touched Vimes' legs. The Weaving Dark proffered a small hairbrush from one of the pockets of her white dress. Vetinari took it from her hand and she sat down in front of him. He lifted the ends of her hair and tried to brush the tangles out. He started at the bottom and slowly worked his way up her long hair carefully avoiding the worst of the matting.

Vimes looked up at the Summoning Dark. It looked tired and floated only a few inches off the ground. It gave him a complex glare that meant 'if you say anything, you will burn.' Vimes decided that silence was a prudent action to take at the moment.

Vetinari pinched a section of the cobbles and pulled. The faint grey lines lengthened and split. They rearranged themselves into an entirely different shape that quickly became a fluffy towel. The surrounding pencil lines sketched over the missing area of street. The cobbles sat there innocently as if nothing had happened.

"How did you do that?" said Vimes.

"Do what?"

"You pulled a towel out of the ground that's what."

"The rules are not the same here. I can alter this world as I wish. It helps me to test out certain ideas that would otherwise be impossible. I can also set restrictions."

Vetinari draped the towel around the Weaving Dark's shoulders. He pinched the cobbles again. A bottle and a wide toothed comb grew from the ground. Vetinari poured the oil into the Weaving Dark's hair.

"Actually," she said. "I'm usually the one who sets the rules. It stops Lucky from cheating during his simulations."

"Lucky?"

Vetinari shot Vimes the cold stare of a killer. Vimes decided to forget he ever heard the Patrician's nickname.

Vimes and the Summoning Dark watched Vetinari gingerly separate the matted hair with his fingers. Vimes felt a pang of sorrow. He thought of Young Sam and Sybil and turned his face away from the happy duo. The Summoning Dark rotated lazily in the air idly feeding off Vimes' sadness. It didn't taste at all as good as anger but sometimes the Summoning Dark liked sampling Vimes' different states of mind, just in case it was one of the combo moods that have that spicy tangy taste. This one, however, tasted wrong, very, very wrong.

* * *

Drumknott stood resolutely in front of the Bank. He did not call out or issue any challenge but the threat was there nonetheless. A crowd was gathering. The citizens of Ankh-Morpork loved a show. A man with a rubber hose around his neck stopped and watched curiously.

"This can't be good, but it's unlikely to end in the apocalypse," Mrs. Cake mused. "But I don't get it. Why is Drumknott here?"

"Drumknott needs to have his presence known also or else the city could break down into more anarchy than normal. I didn't expect he would use the same tactic as Sybil."

"Anarchy? Drumknott isn't the type of man who would go for that."

"It's not like that. Drumknott is fiercely loyal. He will not try to take the Patrician's place. He's reminding us that Vetinari will not be gone for long and will not be happy when he returns."

"All right then. I'll add complete chaos to the long list of things we want to avoid," groaned Mrs. Cake.

It was some time before Lipwig appeared from the double doors.

"Moist von Lipwig, you have gone too far!" shouted Drumknott as if he were reading a script.

Lipwig was infamous for his reckless high-stakes behavior. He was unpredictable, creative, charismatic, and spectacular, in other words, a perfect distraction. Drumknott had come to the right place.

"Er…" Lipwig glanced around at the crowd gathering in Sator Square. His instincts told him to deny any accusation. His sense of self-preservation reminded him that denial is suspicious. "How could you question my methods at such a time as this?" When confronted, you turn the beat around.

"Your methods? You can't excuse your actions by claiming they were a means to an end!"

Lipwig searched for something to say that was vague enough to further the conversation without revealing his ignorance. "With my unconventional ways, I resurrected both the Royal Bank and the Post Office. Haven't I earned your trust?" Even with absolutely no clue what was happening, he could string words to his favor. "What is this really about?"

"Don't play dumb with me," said Drumknott. He was becoming increasingly uncomfortable. He wasn't a very creative man and rarely raised his voice. He couldn't remain reserved in this sort of situation and it scared the bejesus out of him. Moist walked towards him impudently.

"You've never questioned my decisions before," he said nonchalantly.

"You've never abducted the Patrician before!"

The onlookers gasped. On the sidelines, Mrs. Cake gasped for a very different reason.

"Shit, not again!"

"What?"

Mrs. Cake gave Willikins a truly frightening look.

"I'm crunchy!"

"Uh… Hold on! Where are you going?"

"Don't ask!"

"But you need to…"

His words were stifled by the sound of the carriage as it drove quickly back the way they came.

* * *

Dr. Lawn scowled at Vimes' body which until recently had been lifeless. Now a different personality had taken control. Lawn was almost certain that was a bad thing.

"Where the hell did you come from? Where's the real Vimes? Why did you have to go and break my eardrums like that?"

The Guarding Dark held the pillow over his eyes with his free hand. His voice was muffled but Dr. Lawn could still understand him. He had done dental work for a while and had gotten used to deciphering inarticulate grunts. This was nothing compared to that.

"This is awful!" groaned the Guarding Dark. "How does Sam even stand this? It's no wonder he's angry all the time. Just being here hurts like hell."

"Pain is a byproduct of the human condition. I suggest you get used to it," said Dr. Lawn offhandedly. "Now do you care to tell me what's going on?"

"I… I'm not sure. Do you always live in a place this bright? How do you stand all this light? I've seen color before through Sam's eyes but damn it's a whole different shebang in person."

"Well Mr. Dark, I'm sure that if you gave light a try then you would like it, but that's inconsequential. Are you going to explain why you're suddenly not Samuel Vimes?"

"I'd rather not," said the Guarding Dark desperately clinging to the pillow.

"What do you mean you'd rather not?" shouted Dr. Lawn. "This isn't some trifling slip up that happens every day! Who the hell are you?"

"I'mtheGuardingDark! IliveinsideSam'shead!" The Guarding Dark spewed out fearfully.

"Oh great, Vimes is a schizophrenic now. This is the last thing I wanted."

"But I'm serious! Why won't you believe me?"

"Because the implications are terrifying!"

"Well I'm scared too okay. Stop being so mean to me. I don't like this at all."

"Can't you just change into him or something? I don't want to have to deal with your whining."

"I could pretend I'm Sam. I've been with him since he was young."

"You? You don't act a thing like Vimes! How can you be so different if you've been living in his head all this time?"

"I'm not exactly the most complicated of entities here! I'm self-aware but I've never had to do a lot of heaving thinking for myself. I just know what Sam needs me to do and what I feel is right. I don't need his skill set and I don't have the same needs as a human. I've just been there to help him when he calls me or when the Summoning Dark shows up. I also do a bit of housekeeping. Some of his memories are quite disturbing. I try to keep them occupied."

"You're not a guard, you're a nanny."

"Hey, I'm stronger than I look! I have to keep in shape. Each day it's gotten harder to help him because I have to deal with all the other skeletons that clutter his head. I had a system going for a while there and then the Summoning Dark showed up and it's all gone pearshaped. I've had to learn how to be complicated really fast when it got in. That thing is always waiting for the worst moments to trip me up."

"You're petty metaphorical rivalries aside, you can't pass as Vimes and you're going to have no job left if you don't start thinking of how to get him back fast."

.

Suddenly Mrs. Cake burst through the library door.

"Lawn, I need ice, lots of it, downstairs turn left! Sam, go get some wet towels!"

Cake yanked the pillow off the Guarding Dark's face. He screamed.

"Shut up, you pansy. You're not Vimes, are you?"

"Yes and no," he said blinking furiously.

"No time to explain. Take your clothes off. Just do it!"

"But I can barely move!"

Mrs. Cake shot him a terrifying look. The Guarding Dark flinched. He tried to make his free arm obey him and managed to get it on his chest. It was quite the accomplishment. He looked blearily over at Mrs. Cake.

"Hold it, what are you taking of Vetinari's robes for?"

Mrs. Cake didn't answer. It was best not to explain things in situations like this. That way she could use her precognition without getting a headache. Young Sam tottered back into the room with a heavy load of wet towels. He dropped them on the floor in a way that looked remarkably like poo. The towels went squwelch.

"Bring one over here, and help the man who's not quite your father take his shirt off."

Dr. Lawn's rear entered the room. He was dragging a large block of ice using tongs.

"That's too big! Get a hammer and break it apart. Sam, get me a pair of scissors. And you, the bloke formerly known as Vimes, sit up and let me put this towel under you."

The Guarding Dark gave it a go. He could barely get his head off the pillow. Mrs. Cake smiled in relief.

"Not yet eh? We've still got time then."

Mrs. Cake pulled Vetinari's robe and shirt out from under him as best as she could without separating their hands. The Guarding Dark watched her curiously.

"Don't say a thing!" she commanded. "I'm not gonna get a headache because of you asking inane questions."

Sam returned with the scissors. Mrs. Cake snatched them out of his hand. She glared at the Guarding Dark.

"So what? Shut up!" she said and started cutting Vetinari's robe down the sleeve to his wrist.

"Stop it! Vetinari's going to be furious!" The Guarding Dark blinked as he realized he already got the answer.

"Sam, get a towel and put it on Vimes' evil twin. Lawn, get the ice over here!"

* * *

"We have to do it here then, but it needs to be darker," said Vetinari. "I'm not comfortable starting when the ghosts are so strong,"

"I'll do it," said the Weaving Dark cheerfully. She turned to Vimes who was still sitting on the ground recovering. She put her hands on her hips, and said "You're just a horrible man! You're butt-ugly and you smell!"

Vimes stifled a laugh. He could see the mirth in Vetinari's eyes as well, though he tried to hide it.

"It was a good effort" said Vetinari "but, Vimes doesn't anger at those kinds of insults. Trust me. I've been irritating him for years. However, you are an angry man by nature, Vimes. I trust you can do it without my help."

It was true. Vimes had a lot of things to be angry about. He latched on to the thought that he had no mind anymore. In a world like this, it was a safe and realistic concern. The shadows around them darkened.

"That should be enough for now," said Vetinari "I'll start sorting them again. It won't take as long this time."

Vimes watched as Vetinari conducted the white figures. She sat beside him and held his hand. Her warmth was not as strong but Vimes was in no position to be picky. He had regained most of his strength and the pain had lessened. The Weaving Dark pulled a shirt out of the ground and handed it to him.

"You were there when I began," she said "I remember you."

"What do you mean by that?" said Vimes. He put on the new shirt over the remains of his old one. He didn't want to look indecent in front of a young girl by taking it off.

"When I became me, when I stopped just being the Weaving Dark, you were there too."

"Er, so you're not the Weaving Dark?"

She giggled and beckoned to the Summoning Dark. it floated lazily around her.

"When Lucky first made me, I looked a lot like the Summoning Dark. I had no real shape or identity."

She reached out her porcelain hand and caressed the black mist and wispy tendrils that made up the Summoning Dark.

"Then something just clicked and I knew I was me." She smiled at the Summoning Dark and held on to its tail. She spoke softly to it. "I'm sure you'll figure it out too. It must have been awful to not have anywhere to stay. You've been alone since the beginning of time. That's not nice. You deserve better than that."

Vimes blinked and looked from one Dark to the other. The whole situation was incomprehensible.

"So, wait, you're saying that you realized you were you and I was there?"

She nodded. "Do you remember when the dragon attacked Ankh Morpork? When you were locked in the dungeon with Lucky, he had some books."

Vimes thought for a moment. The memory was clouded in adrenaline and fear, but he did remember Vetinari being way too comfortable in his cell.

"Um, sort of," said Vimes.

"The book he was reading was about making lace," said the Weaving Dark. "I saw you using your knives to climb the wall. I realized that things don't always have to be used for the purpose they were made. I saw myself in those knives and I became me. I reached out to the lace and found the sand, a source of life. I grabbed on to new things that I could do. I was not just the Weaving Dark anymore. I am much more than that now."

"I guess that makes sense. I'm glad I could help?"

The Weaving Dark smiled softly and stared at her shoes. Vimes fished for something more to say.

"Where is the Guarding Dark?" he asked the little girl beside him.

"He stayed behind," she whispered solemnly. "He said he had to. He didn't want you to die. I don't know what happened to him but I think he's okay. You're still here aren't you?"

She smiled faintly then blinked in recollection. She searched the ground around them and picked up some grey thread.

"Help me find the rest of him. If this all goes wrong, I'll have to weave him here."

Vimes raised an eyebrow but didn't ask. They collected the grey strings and the Weaving Dark counted them.

"That's all of them…" she said sadly.

"What's wrong?" Vimes asked.

The little girl put her arms around his waist and cried.

"I'm sorry I used your son as a bridge! I was so scared! I didn't want you to die because it meant everyone would die with you and I just didn't want to be alone again."

She was shaking all over. Vimes put his hand on her shoulder in what he hoped was a comforting manner.

"I don't die all that easily, kid. Coppers don't get to be my age if they're easy to kill. We're a bit like cockroaches."

* * *

Mrs. Cake suddenly froze. Her face contorted with confusion. "What the hell are they planning to do?" She sat back and closed her eyes. "I don't get it."

Lawn looked sideways at Young Sam. He shrugged.

"So, we don't need the towels?" he asked.

Cake didn't answer. She was in her own little world. Her mouth moved like she was grumbling about something, but no sound came out. She turned her head slightly at different angles trying to tune in on the best reception. Lawn and Sam just sat there watching her. The ice started melting.

"I can't tell if they should be wet or dry," mumbled Mrs. Cake. Suddenly her eyes snapped open and she grabbed her head. "I'm feeling crispy. Crispy! You have _no_ idea!"

Dr. Lawn backed away cautiously.

"It feels almost like dead leaves?" she whispered feverishly. "But it's not like that. So cold it's hot? No, it's like a frosted window without the window."

"You're not making any sense," said the Guarding Dark. He had gotten marginally more comfortable with the light.

"Of course not! The future is all weird! It's all cold but dry at the same time. Its thin and crisp but needs to be absorbent too."

"Mum, uses starch on the sheets," said Young Sam. "They crinkle and stick up."

Mrs. Cake wasn't listening. Dr. Lawn left to find an ironing board. After a while Sam went down to the kitchen.

.

.

.

The crispy line comes from a trippy flash animation I saw years ago. It had a skeleton and a cup of coffee with a portal in it and these two European guys and a broom closet. PM me if you know where to find it.


	9. Chapter 85

OOC warning. Feel free to berate me.

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Vimes had regained all his strength a while ago. He still felt a little weaker than usual but he didn't want to dwell on that. He stood to the side watching the two Darks interact. It wasn't quite like play but it seemed friendly enough. Vimes had a grudging respect for the Summoning Dark. He thought he had it all figured out but now he wasn't quite so sure. It had always been a beast to him, something to be wary of. He thought of it as some kind of daunting force that must always be taken into account. He never suspected that it had the ability to act so… differently.

Vetinari walked up beside him. They watched the Darks silently for a minute before Vetinari spoke.

"I'm ready now. I will need you with me this time. The Weaving Dark is stronger here in my mind. You still need you to watch her, though. Tell me if anything happens."

"You know you never did explain to me what all this is for."

Vetinari took a breath and carefully fixed his eyes on the boiling lines of ghosts he had just finished arranging.

"The white figures are my memories from the last six days," he said flatly.

"Six days? But there are so many of them."

"I have a nigh photographic memory, Vimes. The only reason why the city isn't flooded is that there are memories that are strong enough to push the others back. The down side is that those powerful memories are going to be… hard to process especially here where they feel emboldened."

"But, what can I do about that?" asked Vimes. "They're your memories. I've learned how to hold them back but that's not going to do you any good if you need them to be close to you."

Vetinari looked Vimes in the eye. "They will come. I just need you to make sure they don't bombard me all at once. I hear you are good at crowd control."

"Is that it? I guess I could do that."

"I'd like you to do one more thing though," said Vetinari. There was a hint of fear in his voice or maybe it was guilt.

"It had better not be too complicated. This isn't just crowd control, it's a riot."

Vetinari looked away again. "… I think you likened yourself to a heating blanket."

Vimes narrowed his eyes. He hadn't expected this sort of behavior. Vetinari stared at the ground for a moment before looking up.

"Please?"

Vimes was stunned for a second. Vetinari never said please to him, at least never like this. He looked so frightened. Vimes scowled.

"Fine then, I'll do it. Let's just get this over with."

Vetinari's lips formed a faint sad smile. "Turn around," he said.

Vetinari stood with his back touching Vimes'. He reached behind him and took hold of Vimes' hands. Sam's pulse quickened apprehensively. Vetinari laced their fingers. Vimes went stiff.

"Is that… really necessary?"

"Do you seriously think I would have done it otherwise?"

Vimes did not relax.

Vetinari grinned knowingly and closed his eyes. He could feel Vimes standing behind him, watching his back. It was an amazing feeling, relief mixed with stability and courage. He let the feeling pass through his skin and surround him. He knew he would need that protection.

This was the hardest part.

He let the walls around his heart crumble into pure vulnerability. The feeling of warmth that Sam radiated filled his heart. Fear and doubt threatened to build up the wall again, but Havelock forced them down. This was the whole purpose of coming here: to feel.

The white figures slowly approached Havelock. He allowed them to pass through him one by one. They're tattered remains exited through Sam in thousands of frayed transparent ribbons. They flowed through the air, fighting each other, trying to reach the Weaving Dark. By the time they got to her, they had stretched into threads finer than silk. They wound themselves around bobbins in her lap. She weaved the threads over and through placing tiny pins in the lace to hold the pattern's shape. She started slowly then picked up speed as Vetinari processed more memories. The pins moved and the ribbon of lace lengthened. The Weaving Dark cut it and started a new one. Each time she did this a unique and more intricate pattern emerged. New bobbins seemed to appear out of nowhere.

Then there were colors. Vimes had spent so long in grey that the colors came as a shock.

Vetinari winced. The memories were coming too quickly. There were so many and they kept on pushing each other forward. He was losing control. At this point, the impatient strong memories were fighting to get to him first. There was no way to build up his walls again even if he wanted to. He had to persevere. He clutched Vimes' hands harder.

The Weaving Dark's fingers moved frantically. She was forced to use more and more bobbins to hold the memories and that meant making more delicate patterns with more pins, but it wasn't enough. The threads of silk were building up around her swirling and darting. They stung her skin in their impatience.

"She's having a bit of trouble" Vimes said. It sounded like a really hollow thing to say.

Vetinari groaned. The memories were tearing at his heart as they passed through. He could hardly hear Vimes.

"Go to her." Vetinari said. He clenched his teeth.

"But what about you?"

"Since when have I ever needed protecting? Just go!"

Vimes pulled one of his hands away. Vetinari gasped and his knees weakened. He stumbled slightly and caught himself. Vimes grabbed Vetinari's hand again.

"Let go! I told you to help her!"

"I don't think I need to."

"Damn it, Vimes! This is no time—"

"I think the Summoning Dark is doing a better job than I would."

The Summoning Dark had stretched its body almost entirely around The Weaving Dark. Its crackling black shadow forced the memories to turn away. It deflected them like the bow of a ship, creating a tiny island of calm that let only a few threads in at a time. Her hands still whirled faster than Vimes could see but she seemed a little calmer about it. The Summoning Dark was protecting her from being overwhelmed.

Vimes heard Vetinari briefly shout behind him. He had never heard that sort of cry from the Patrician before. It made Vimes shudder. He could feel Vetinari grow weaker until he was leaning heavily on him. Vimes tried to hold him up but there's only so much someone can do when back to back.

Vimes let go of one of Vetinari's hands just long enough for him to spin sideways and catch the Patrician as his knees gave out. He wrapped his arms around Vetinari and tried to break the worst before it got to him.

It was then that the memories started flashing in his head bringing with them a kind of pain he had never felt before. It was excruciating but Vimes refused to let go. He felt Vetinari shudder every time a wave of memories surged over him. Sam's anger flared as the figures left vague snapshots in his head. A particularly violent one stepped through them making Havelock shout in pain. Sam knew of the dangers associated with being Patrician. Vetinari had been shot through the leg and didn't even make a sound. People have to endure a lot of pain in order to build up tolerance like that. Vimes' head filled with echoing screams and livid anger.

Even before the Summoning Dark had chosen him, Vimes bore his own personal evil. He let the familiar fire rush through his veins. An endless stream of faces erupted from his heart. They were the criminals that had gotten away from him, those who were never brought to justice.

He dragged out the feelings that he had pushed away so his personal Laws would remain intact. In his mind's eye he killed each and every one of them.

He let himself think the things that a watchman is not supposed to think. He allowed himself to feel the evil satisfaction of murder. He imagined giving back to those men all the pain and terror they had inflicted on their victims. He gave attention to the details, the sounds of their bones breaking and the gleam of the knife as he sliced their skin apart.

Vimes killed them, all of them.

They burned.

His fury exploded. It launched the boiling crowd of white figures into the air. They fell like hail over the city.

The effort drained him. The thoughts of revenge had pressured him for so long. Now that he had let them through, their powerful anger deflated. His legs refused to hold his weight anymore and he collapsed onto the cobbles. Without his support, Vetinari fell also. Vimes pushed himself up and managed to pull Vetinari's limp body into his lap. He remembered seeing a statue holding a corpse like this in one of the temples, Pieta. Both figures were just as lifeless. Vimes could feel himself fading as Vetinari got weaker. Sam hugged him tightly and leaned over him as Vetinari trembled.

"I've gotten rid of them," Sam said quietly. "They won't come back."

Both knew it was a lie, but right now it didn't matter. Enough belief can override the truth sometimes.

"It hurts," said Havelock feebly.

Sam's anger flowed out of him freely. He didn't have the strength left to hold it back. There wouldn't be another explosive attack like that, but Sam had a lot more rage left. He had spent his whole life suppressing his darkness. There was always something to be angry about.

He thought of Carcer and the Particulars. Walking through that gruesome building and seeing the sickening things they did to their victims would always be a source of anger no matter how much he used. It was hard to think about though. The memory raked its claws across his heart. The force of the rage was too difficult to face. He struggled away and switched to a lesser source.

Havelock absorbed the power of Vimes' leaking fury. This time, Sam had given it no form or function. He was only retrieving it. Anger that has not been acted upon yet is neutral. It's what you choose to do with it that has moral values. Over the years, Vimes had learned how to direct his anger into motivation and strength. It was the pure energy of his inner rage that helped him push through situations that would paralyze other men.

And now Samuel Vimes had someone to protect.

_This world cannot beat me._

The white figures returned in small groups. They came in waves or one at a time depending on how far away they had flown. Vimes was ready for them.

* * *

Mrs. Cake couldn't relax. She knew there was nothing else she could do, but the feeling of flakiness just wouldn't go away. Young Sam's ideas seemed to be working well. He had retrieved a fresh head of lettuce from downstairs and a loofa from the bathroom. Dr Lawn had been surprisingly unhelpful in the creativity department and crumpled up a copy of the Times.

"It's crispy and absorbent and can be chilly."

"We're surrounded by books! There's more paper in here than necessary. Their affect has reached a limit. We need something else, more cold things but the ice keeps on melting and making them too wet."

"Hey, I'm doing the best I can. It's not my fault that Sam is warm-blooded," said the Guarding Dark. He was sitting up now and could spread the ice by himself. He dried his skin after each application. Mrs. Cake knew that his restored strength was a bad sign.

"Try bringing in more plants," said Dr. Lawn in a stroke of insight.

"Well I guess leaves are crispy," said Mrs. Cake.

"Not just that, photosynthesis is an endothermic reaction."

"What?"

"It means that if you put air and water into a plant then it absorbs heat too. You didn't say it had to just absorb water."

"That… right… you do that."

Young Sam gasped. "I've got an idea! I can absorb sadness!" He dashed out of the room.

He brought in a little metal xylophone. He added what would politely be described as flourishes as he plinked out an impromptu concerto.

* * *

As the trial continued Vimes found it easier to control the aggressive memories. He conserved his energy by strategically setting off bolts of black lightning that split into a scattering of smaller sparks. It didn't take much to scare the crowd. The bulk of his anger went into keeping Vetinari alive.

When the last memory passed through, Vetinari's eyes flickered open. He had almost no strength left but at least he hadn't passed out. Vimes shifted to let go, but Vetinari held fast.

"One moment," he said.

Vimes let Vetinari hold him for a little while longer then tried to move again

"I said don't move."

Vimes sighed and placed his head back on Vetinari's shoulder and decided to wait it out. Vetinari was not going to let him go. This was his mind and he made the rules.

Then he felt it, the echoes of pain that still reverberated in Vetinari's chest. He could hear the man's heart beating weakly. Vimes imagined it torn and frayed. He remembered how he had attacked Vetinari and how broken he looked.

Vimes opened his heart trying to absorb the remaining pain. He felt like it was owed. Vetinari smiled. A feeling of relief swept through him. This was what it felt like to trust someone. It was… odd.

With Vimes' help, the pain slowly dissipated to a tolerable level* and Vetinari let go. This was all so foreign.

Vimes supported him and led him to sit on a low wall near the Weaving Dark. The memories still swarmed around her but the Summoning Dark seemed perfectly content to lie beside her and block them from rushing her.

Vetinari slouched gratefully on the stone wall. The worst had passed. He had survived and maybe everything could go back to normal. He slowly started rebuilding the walls around his heart. There was little progress. He was still too weak but he did manage to push a circle of debris around his heart and that would have to do for now.

He watched the Weaving Dark. He had never needed to rely on her so much before. He usually had strength enough to control the flow of memories himself so that she was never inundated. He had lost that control.

And that was his greatest fear.

[*You know, gaping wound level.]

* * *

"Huh… it worked. Fancy that," said Mrs. Cake.

Young Sam took a bow. "A mushroom taught me."

* * *

Then one last memory appeared. The figure was tinted yellow with age. It moved strangely as if fighting to stand. Vetinari's eyes went wide.

"Vimes, stop that one!"

Vetinari sounded afraid in a different way than before. This was like the all-encompassing terror of a torture victim being deliberately kept alive. It was true fear that went beyond mere death. It was the fear of living. Vimes stood in front of the hobbling ghost stopping its slow progress toward Vetinari. It wobbled unsteadily but did not step back. Vimes fixed it with his best copper stare. The yellowed figure stood straighter as if the opposition had given it courage. This one had been through it all yet could still stand with purpose. Vimes smirked in approval.

"What is this one?" He asked Vetinari.

"That is of no interest to you, Vimes. Just keep it away from me."

Vimes caught the poorly suppressed urgency in Vetinari's voice. It seemed out of place. Vimes stood beside the figure. It turned toward him but didn't show any sign of hostility. He stood, face blank, beside the Summoning Dark and waited for the Weaving Dark to finish. The yellowed figure stayed put. It did not leave. It did not move forward.

* * *

Meanwhile back at the ranch:

Lipwig choked on his own lungs. For once, he was utterly speechless.

_Does he seriously think I kidnapped the Patrician? Damn it, how the hell am I going to get out of this one?_

Drumknott took the opportunity to close the gap between them.

"This wasn't the plan!" shouted Drumknott straight-faced. "I played along because Lord Vetinari trusted you. You were the only one I could turn to." He gave him a meaningful and desperate look that Moist couldn't even begin to translate.

"Uhh…"

"You knew I needed your help," Drumknott's tone of voice didn't change but his normally blank face briefly showed emotion. It terrified Lipwig even more than the baseless allegations. Drumknott seamlessly reverted to his wooden expression as if nothing had happened. "You took advantage of me! It has always been all about the money with you."

Lipwig picked up on the sudden change in atmosphere, but had no clue what it meant.

"Err… You can't say that!" Moist tried to keep the uncertainty out of his voice by being loud. It usually worked.

"Were you even thinking? What do you plan to gain from this?" said Drumknott. Then he abruptly slipped off his passive mask. "The whole city could fall into chaos without the Patrician." He covered his emotion again and said, "Kidnapping Lord Vetinari won't get you any closer to your goals. The wealth of the city depends on him. Your money will become useless!"

Lipwig had a talent for reading people, but this hadn't been covered in Sense Motive 101. If Drumknott was serious, he would have just sent someone to 'collect' him. On the other hand, this sort of display could sway the people to believe a lie. Drumknott might need public approval to initiate acts against him. Something was clearly fishy. Lipwig resorted to picking holes in his opponent's logic.

"Wealth doesn't depend on Vetinari! The golems are more than enough to keep the banks stable."

Drumknott got up close to Lipwig and looked him straight in the eye with an expression of sincere dismay and shattered hope. It was the kind of face that people wore when confronted by Chrysoprase.

"Why couldn't you have just played your part? I wasn't going to hurt you. We would have both been safe." Drumknott put on his mask again and stepped back.

Clarity flashed across Lipwig's face. He hoped he wasn't wrong.

"But, I haven't done anything! You can search the bank and the post office!"

"You've hidden the Patrician elsewhere. You're not stupid enough to leave him where the Watch can—"

.

The crowd suddenly switched its attention to a disturbance down the street. The sound of wheels quickly approaching made them scurry out of the way.

Dressed in a shining silver gown, Sybil rode in on a magnificent chariot. It was an impressive entrance even by Lipwig's standards. He stared at Lady Sybil.

"Hey, the golden suit was my idea! You can't just usurp my position!"

"You will return to me that which is mine!" shouted Sybil a little bit too theatrically.

"So it has come to this," said Lipwig. It was a useful phrase in that it could convey a strong reaction without actually communicating anything.

"You can't run from me, Moist von Lipwig. Did you think I wouldn't see through your lies? I trusted you."

"Apparently I am not a very trustworthy person anymore," said Lipwig. He threw Drumknott a mean look before returning his attention to Sybil. "Fortunately lying is not a serious offence or your husband would have a hard time down at the tanty." _Play along _he told himself _and maybe I'll survive… maybe._

"Lying may not be a crime, but kidnapping still is," yelled Sybil from atop her magnificent chariot. "You will hang for this!"

"I've bested the gallows before, I can do it again." Moist gave Sybil a cold look that clearly said 'What the hell are you doing?'

"Give me back my Sam, you prick!"

Lipwig was surprised at her fiery tone. Both hers and Drumknott's allegations were ludicrous and he would normally find a way to prove himself innocent, but this wasn't a normal situation. Normal answers would not work. Against his better judgment, he placed his trust in Drumknott and his hidden plea for help.

"Sir Samuel came to me of his own free will," said Moist making things up on the fly.

"That's a load of crap and you know it. Because of you, Lipwig, I've been worried all day. You started those petty rumors to distract me. Well, it's not going to work anymore! I know your scheme, you crook."

"This is crazy talk. What could I possibly gain from abducting your husband? You can't throw around accusations without proof."

"Oh, I can and I will. I know you've been aiming to become Patrician!"

The crowd gasped. Moist gawped, momentarily speechless.

"That… What?"

"You've gained power by worming your way into Havelock's heart."

"Who knew he had it in him?"

"I did! You can't hide your intentions. You've taken my husband because you were afraid he would be your opponent."

The audience grumbled. Lipwig silently agreed with them but the show must go on. Moist put his sanity on the backburner and pulled out his acting skills.

"Ha, you make him out to be some sort of saint! I'll tell you, Your Highness, that the Duke has had his eyes on the patricianship himself. What better way to assume his powers than to declare martial law after his disappearance? Admit it. You kidnapped Vetinari! He might even be dead right now!"

Moist had taken a big risk there. Crowds in Ankh-Morpork could turn into riots at the drop of a hat.

Drumknott interrupted in an attempt to rein in the false argument. "Sybil has many contacts. She would not need to resort to such brute tactics in order to usurp Lord Vetinari."

It was true. Sybil had the social influence to make anyone Patrician if she wanted to.

"You're the only one who could have abducted Havelock. He trusts you to oversee both the Mint and the Post. He obviously holds you in high regard. You are in the perfect position to catch the Patrician unawares."

"The same applies to your husband. You can't base an accusation on that!"

"I demand you release them both!" shouted Sybil.

"And I demand that you both stop wasting my time! You can't do a thing without a warrant."

"I issue a warrant," said Drumknott.

"Can he do that?" Lipwig asked Sybil.

"Only if ratified by a citizen in good standing, which is what I am doing right now."

"Damn it."

* * *

Vimes stepped towards Vetinari. In his heart, rage simmered softly. He had no idea why it was so important but, he was not going to leave without knowing. The yellow figure trailed slowly behind him. Vetinari's eyes automatically spotted the movement. He froze and stared as Vimes approached him.

"Tell me, what memory is this one."

Vetinari didn't have the strength to stop himself from cringing. Of all the memories he had processed in his lifetime, this was the one that always came back. It was also the one that he least wanted Vimes to know about. It had taken many forms over the years. Why did it have to be this one? Even the Lady Margolatta version would have been preferable.

"Send it away. I'll deal with it later," said Vetinari. He tried to keep the panic out of his voice but the ordeal had left his defenses in ruins.

The yellow figure bubbled fiercely, but maintained its distance. Vimes noticed the change and made a wild assumption.

"It has to do with Sybil, doesn't it?"

Vetinari's face went so carefully blank that it betrayed everything. It was all Vimes needed. He reached out a hand to touch the yellowed memory.

"Stop! It's not your business!" Vetinari shouted and ran forward only to be blocked by the Summoning Dark's tail. It was still protecting the Weaving Dark from the swarms of angry threads.

She spoke up her eyes still focused on her work. "The Summoning Dark says that you should stay right where you are. Sam deserves to know. He needs to understand or you'll end up losing more."

Vimes kneeled and allowed the yellow figure to pass over him. It stopped so that Vimes could hear the words it had kept safe for so long.

"_I can't, I just can't. I have to choose, but either path is equally harsh—"_

Vimes didn't get to hear the rest of the message. Vetinari had pushed past the Summoning Dark and knocked Vimes away from the yellowed memory.

"NO!" He shouted, panic engraved in his features. He held Vimes' arms to the ground with surprising strength. "Please."

"Why?" Vimes stared resolutely into Vetinari's eyes. "Tell me one good reason why I shouldn't."

Vetinari's breath came in gasps as he strained to regain control of his emotions but the walls in his heart were still too weak. His body shook with exhaustion. He squeezed his eyes shut and touched his chin to his chest so that Vimes didn't have a clear view of his face. Vetinari whispered something inaudible. Vimes would have none of that.

"Say it."

Vetinari took a deep ragged breath and stayed silent. He could feel his resistance crumbling.

"Say it!" shouted Vimes.

The memory passed through them leaving whispers in its wake. They circled his neck choking him. Suddenly Havelock couldn't hold the truth in any longer. It had hurt him too much for far too long.

"It's not just Sybil I wish for!" He said. His eyes were clouded. "But, I can't even get close to you because of what people would think. I know I don't deserve it but…"

Vetinari raised his head to look Vimes in the eyes. He hoped beyond all logic that Vimes would understand.

"You're exactly what I've wanted my entire life."

Vimes kept his face blank as he processed what he had just heard. Every possible answer was absurd. He couldn't even think straight. Vetinari surely couldn't have meant what he said.

"Liar."

Vetinari moved his face closer to Vimes'. His vision blurred. All the emotions were surging back into Vetinari unbidden. They clamored to be free.

"Do I look like I'd lie about this? I hide it because it's all I can do to stop myself from ruining everything! My city needs me! I shouldn't feel like this!"

Vimes' mind raced through the impossible situations that forced their way to the surface. No! That makes no sense! Vimes thought of the bright colored pubs that he had steadily avoided his whole life.

_Vetinari just doesn't act like that. This isn't real!_

Vetinari sunk his forehead onto Vimes' shoulder. Something impossible soaked through his shirt. Vetinari could not be shaking like that. Fear and pain he could understand, but this? Vimes' body was completely frozen, his mind void of all things but the weight of the man above him and the sound of sobbing.

"You… love…" To Vimes the words seemed so distant.

"Yes" Vetinari whispered through his shuddering sobs.

"But, you hate me."

"I do."

There was a short pause.

"I'm not like that. I'm married."

Vetinari choked, pushed himself up, and punched Vimes' jaw with the force of a troll.

"DAMN IT, VIMES, THAT'S NOT WHAT I MEANT!"*

Vimes shoved Vetinari off of him and fumed.

"Then what do you mean, because it sure as hell sounded like that!"

"I'm talking about all of you, Sybil, Young Sam, and even Willikins! Gods damn Morporkian and its lack of a suitable pronoun for the plural you."

"Well you singular had better start explaining really fast."

Vetinari didn't stand up. He folded his arms protectively against his chest.

"I see you every day and your happiness stabs me. You take your family for granted and run off to chase some petty thief! I can't stand by while you ignore your son growing up, when I can't even touch him. You've been given so much, but you waste it, and all the while I wish that I could be part of it! I desperately want to pick up the scraps you've left behind but I can never get near you!"

Vimes stood and stared at the defenseless man on the ground below him. The scene disgusted him.

"That's it then, jealousy?" he said flatly "You want to have my life. You regret me getting married to Sybil, because now she's beyond you reach."

"No, you don't understand! You are making her so much happier than I ever could. I mean that I have no one I can get close to. I love you and your family but I can never show it."

"If you're so chummy why do you always kick me about?"

"Because I need you to hate me. If word got out that I was at all friendly to you, wars could start." Vetinari paused for a moment and flashed a slight grin. "Plus you're much more fun to tease than Sybil."

Vimes decided to ignore that last part.

"I think you're overreacting a bit on the consequences, sir. I don't see how a few friendly visits could be all that bad."

Vetinari's face went blank.

"Is that so, Your Excellency?"

.

.

*Tee hee, psych.

Trollololololol.

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.

It took me a long time to get the wording just right to be misleading. Now I see what William de Worde has to go through. This was actually one of the chapters I wrote first because I wanted to make a somewhat believable reason that Vetinari would get into a situation like this. I like V/V but the fics always seem so contrived. I just can't see them in a gay relationship.

Vetinari/Lipwig even makes more sense… tee hee hee.

"Ever since I finished the bank and the post, there has been no excitement in my life. I must do something reckless but nothing satisfies me anymore."

"Well well, Mr. Lipwig, you've come to the right place. Fear is one of my specialties. How much were you looking for?"

"As much as you can give me."

Lolololololol!


	10. Chapter 9

"I feel crispy… crispy. You have no idea!" comes from a site called Noise Rover. The animation is called The Hole. Please watch it. It's weird.

The next chapter is going to take a while because I'm hitting the point where I don't have much written except for an outline of what I want to happen and a few scenes. Spoiler alert: Mrs. Cake vs. The Ridcully Brothers in the showdown of the century! Also, the 'Kick the Dog' trope will be used on Vimes.

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.

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"There is nothing I can do in this situation. Either I step down as Patrician or I just push away my emotions and continue ruling. The two most powerful men from the disc's most influential city cannot be seen making an alliance."

Vetinari walked out into the center of the square and touched the ground. As he stood, a rectangular prism was sketched into existence.

"I have carefully adjusted the balance of power in the city for decades. Ankh-Morpork means the world to me. I know what will happen if I show you any preference."

Vetinari moved his hand and the object stretched into a thin wall that was a bit taller than him.

"Is there something that would force us to act together?" asked Vimes.

"I don't think there has ever been a situation where we worked together that was in any way desirable. 7 multi, 24, horizontal," said Vetinari as he touched the newly created wall.

Vimes watched Vetinari manipulate the seven duplicate walls that had branched off from the original. He squinted at it trying to figure out what he was making.

"I can see why you kept this to yourself," he said deciding to ignore the strange objects and return to the conversation.

"From my perspective," said Vetinari, "the only remotely plausible option would be to ask you to stand down as Commander of the Watch. However, being a watchman is part of you. It would be like asking you to cut off a leg and that is not how healthy relationships begin."

Vimes sighed. There seemed to be no solution, or at least none that didn't result in violence. Vetinari poked various grids of squares through the walls and filled them with what to Vimes looked like arbitrary numbers and letters.

"Opacity 10, no clip," he said.

Vimes looked at him curiously. The wall turned translucent so he could see Vetinari on the other side walking straight through them. He gave up trying to understand the thing.

"What about a court?" Vimes said.

"You know I despise royal courts," Vetinari said as he moved the numbers around.

"I'm talking about the other kind of court."

Vetinari paused in his calculations to face Vimes.

"There is already a sufficiently effective judiciary system in place."

"Yes, and I've agreed with most of your decisions. I can understand your methods and why you use them. In your public trials, you make it so the people approve of your verdict. You can get what you want without using your powers as a tyrant. Basically you have a system which can be taught to another."

Vetinari emerged from the semitransparent grid.

"You're saying that I should share my thinking process when sentencing criminals. You overestimate the collective IQ of the city, Vimes. If I spent time explaining things to everyone then I would never get anything done."

"I meant just one person. If they use the same steps as you do then the same decision can be made without your direct influence. If you gave that person the power to decide in your stead, then you will get the same result without having to be there personally."

"The illusion of free will. That's a surprisingly manipulative idea coming from you."

"You're a bad influence on me, sir, but in this situation you'll have to surrender some of your authority. Plus, you would have to work closely with that person. You'll be forced to be friendly or else the people will worry about the city splitting up. You would need equal power."

"I assure you Vimes we are equal already… after this at least. However granting you more control over my city will not—"

Vetinari's world flared white hot with a sudden spike of anger that his defenses were still too weak to hold back. He roughly shoved Vimes through the walls of his creation.

"Tell me you did not just suggest the formation of a diarchy!" The threat in his voice was perfectly clear.

The walls that surrounded Vimes started to glow brightly. The blinding light scorched his eyes and he reflexively drew his own anger out. The comforting darkness kept him safe from the light's influence. He stood resolutely in his cloak of night and did not let the fear overtake him. As he passed through the walls the world gradually darkened back to its neutral state.

"What the hell was that for?" Vimes shouted.

Vetinari however was not paying him any attention. He stared sightlessly at the horizon as hazy images of people appeared in the streets going about their daily business. He moved his hand and they gradually sped up until they were barely visible. Every so often, Vimes could catch a snippet of color.

"Uh… alright, you have just officially reinstated yourself on my list of people to avoid at all costs."

Vetinari manipulated time backwards and forwards at fluctuating speeds. Vimes saw a disturbing smirk appear on his lips and everyone vanished. He paused to glance back at the Weaving Dark. Satisfied with her comfort, Vetinari moved his arms in a wide horizontal sweep. The whole palace morphed into a humongous set of what could be loosely described as bleachers. He checked on the Weaving Dark yet again. She was lazily leaning against the Summoning Dark's black misty body. They were having what seemed to be a one-sided discussion as the symbol of ancient evil casually sorted through the threads with its tail.

"I'm impressed," said Vetinari turning his attention to a clearly confused Vimes. "The Summoning Dark is more powerful than I first expected yet you have still retained your sanity. You are remarkably compatible."

Vetinari abruptly switched his focus back to the risers. He pointed at different seats and people appeared, each one composed of various colors and forms. Some of them had missing body parts. Others had little orbs of light orbiting around them. As Vimes stepped closer, he started to recognize the faces of prominent members of society all frozen in different positions and showing individual emotions.

The Weaving Dark looked up from her work. She and Vetinari exchanged words that were apparently a conversation but the meaning went straight over Vimes' head.

"Set 0, Start," she said briskly before returning to her work.

Suddenly the crowd of multicolored people started to change at a breakneck pace. They moved so quickly that Vimes couldn't keep track of who was where most of the time. The people duplicated themselves seemingly at random, their doubles flashing into existence higher up the steps. Vimes could hear various musical notes sound in correlation to undefined events. There was a single second of silence.

"Set 17, 38, 12, and 5," commanded the Weaving Dark. "Part red cold 66, First cap 29% towards 76%. 800 less less catch Group A-4."

A good portion of the people turned black. Vetinari cursed under his breath and continued the process. Every so often he would reset the stage and start again.

"You're not making this easy, Vimes."

"If it were easy then you would have done it already. By the way, are you going to explain this?"

Vetinari ignored the question. Vimes had expected this. After several minutes, the bleachers warped into an eye twisting three-dimensional shape that almost curved in on itself. There was an abrupt silence.

"Set 89, 64, 67, 97—" The Weaving Dark went quiet for a moment. She stood up and put her hands on her hips. "Really, Lucky? You're such a child!"

"Please, Sandy?"

"Don't call me that! I know you aren't—"

"I am."

The Weaving Dark looked at Vetinari suspiciously and slowly sat down again. She picked up her bobbins and sighed. She rattled of an exceptionally long string of incomprehensible conditions that seemed to go on for hours. When she finished only a tenth of the bleachers remained and the seats had populated in an odd diagonal pattern. A peculiar smile lit Vetinari's face.

"You're so stupid, Lucky," said the Weaving Dark.

"It will work."

"That doesn't make you any less stupid! I expect something in return for you wasting my time!"

* * *

Back in Sator Square, Moist was running out of ideas. Throwing around baseless political accusations was fun and all but what the crowd really wanted was a show. They wanted drama and they were going to get it. Lipwig dug in his heels and let his talents shine.

"And what if I did kidnap him? It's not like your husband meant much to you," he said pointing his finger directly at Sybil. "You've been cheating on him!"

The audience gasped but Sybil rolled her eyes. _Seriously, is that all you could think of? All right then, you asked for it._

"And you would know about that, wouldn't you?" she insinuated. "Why don't you tell your fiancee all about it?"

"Don't you dare bring Adora into this!" shouted Moist.

The threat was genuine but Sybil ignored him. She turned the theatrics up to eleven.

"You can't just ignore that time we spent together," said Sybil.

The crowd made the kind of scandalous sound that's like ooooo but with a flourish at the end for emphasis.

Adora Bell Dearheart hadn't expected to become part of the action. She had been leisurely listening to Dorfl as he brought her up to speed but Sybil's words forced her to leave the sidelines. She split the crowd using intimidation alone. Dearheart wasn't what you would call an actress but she never needed to pretend when insulting someone.

"So it was you! Not satisfied with being duchess, are you? No, you want more, you power-hungry cunt!"

Sybil was taken aback by her sudden ferocity. She could almost feel the heat from Adora's pent up anger venting right at her.

"You don't deserve him, Dearheart! You can't care for him like I do." Sybil internally cringed at her own words.

"Moist doesn't need to be taken care of. He's not like your frail plum job brown nosing husband!"

Sybil put on her game face and transformed into full duchess mode.

"Don't talk about things you don't know about. If you were here more often you would have noticed Lipwig's unmet needs. Instead you go gallivanting around the disc searching for lifeless bumbling mud dolls! Don't you fancy one of them, Dearheart? You can alter their bodies any way you like. You can give them tongues to speak. Why not other parts, a little extra clay here and there? When you say you want him all night long, he can deliver. I bet he says he loves you and you've convinced yourself he means it."

"Dorfl."

"Yes Miss Dearheart?"

"Sing. Now."

"Please Don't Make Me Sing."

"Do it."

"But It's All An Act. Calling Them Will Escalate The Problem Unnecessarily."

"You better damn well sing or I'm assigning you to work in the alchemists guild as a kiln."

"You Would Not Do That."

Adora said a phrase in the ancient golem tongue. The fire in Dorfl's eyes faded. A sonorous melody echoed from inside. He stood in the song's epicenter as the sound traveled through the ground like an earthquake.

Lipwig snatched uselessly at Gladis' dress as she passed him to stand beside Dorfl. She added her own voice to the song, a modest ephemeral soprano.

Sybil took a few steps backwards. This was not what she intended to happen.

_Damn, I went too far! This is supposed to be a distraction not a war! I don't want to create a situation worse than what would have happened if everyone knew the truth. Where the hell did Drumknott run off to? I need him. This is getting out of control. There has to be a balance of power, the illusion of a level playing field._

"Willikins, I'm going to need some backup firepower."

"Surely you don't mean that."

"I am dead serious. Go get the dragons from pen nine."

"Even Madame Cauliflower?"

"Especially Madame Cauliflower."

* * *

Vetinari's analysis had come to an ugly conclusion.

"Mr. King is illiterate. The guilds are incompetent. Mr. Lipwig is a maverick. You are indispensible and Sybil is remarkably versatile. As appointed leaders, a risky yet extremely effective possibility could be you, me, and Moist von Lipwig." Vetinari turned to Vimes with a disgusted look on his face. "We need a triumvirate." The words left Vetinari's mouth like morning halitosis.

"Three rulers?"

"You're forcing my hand, you magnificent bastard."

"I learned from the best."

Vimes glared at Vetinari in disapproval. He knew he wasn't forcing the Patrician to do anything. _You're using me as a tool to pass the blame and justify your actions to the Weaving Dark._

Vetinari gave him a look that clearly conveyed, _Yes, I am. Good job spotting that. Do you want a medal?_

"The concept works in theory and I am quite confident in our abilities," said Vetinari ignoring the silent exchange. "A reevaluation of government would fit nicely into my plans. It's a brilliant idea that I could have overlooked. One thing gets in the way though. Your body is most likely dead."

* * *

"That's enough!" shouted Captain Carrot. "The Watch isn't going to let this argument go any further!"

Though Carrot's charisma would cool even the worst brawls, it was useless when up against the city's golem population that had responded to Dorfl's call. They held him and the rest of the Watch back so they would not intervene. Captain Carrot was in a tight spot. His duty was to protect the peace and he would do anything to fulfill that, but that was before there were golems disrupting it.

"Dorfl, make her call them off!"

"I Will Not."

"You are an officer of the Watch! That was not a request!"

Dearheart's ancient words echoed in Dorfl's head and tightened around what he liked to think of as his heart. The promise was never to be broken.

"It Is A Holy Day, Sir."

* * *

"I'm still not convinced about you, Mr. Dark. Multiple personality disorder is pretty common. Vimes has certainly experienced enough trauma to give anyone mental illness."

"I've thought of that for a long time and I'm pretty sure I'm not like that."

"Everyone says that."

"I mean it. I'm missing Vimes' childhood memories. I don't remember anything before he joined the Watch. I don't even know what forced him to create me. But I have a feeling that it had something to do with Keel's death."

"Oh not this again."

"I got to see some things that happened to Sam before I existed. I think I can understand why someone so young would require my services."

"It was a nasty battle but young Vimes wasn't really part of the action."

"It's not the battle that made him create me. It was probably the torture chambers that he had to search. When Sam was pretending to be John Keel, I got to see for the first time how his younger self looked when he saw the victims. He would have killed that torturer if Keel hadn't been there to stop him. When Keel died, maybe the teenaged Sam thought he would need someone to hold him back the next time since Keel wasn't there anymore. I think that's why he created me."

"Something like that is certainly fuel for PTSD."

"I'm not some trauma induced hallucination!"

"Oi can tell you right now he's real," said Mrs. Cake. "Oi 'ave no idear what he is but he's real."

"Now do you believe me? I'm not Sam."

"Fine, get on with the story then."

"I was weak at first and couldn't help him that much but I've grown so much stronger over the years because that's what Sam needed me to do. I've done my best, and I've even managed to work out a deal with the Summoning Dark."

"The Summoning Dark!" shouted Mrs. Cake. "Bloody hell, is that what that thing is? No wonder I 'ave such trouble seeing Vimes!"

"Vetinari has a Dark too, a little girl. I didn't catch her name."

"The Patrician called her the Weaving Dark. Oi'm not really sure though. It's 'ard to hear what they're sayin' in there. She seems to 'ave taken a liking to Vimes. She knows he's a good man."

The Guarding Dark turned his head away and shut his eyes. He slowly started to cry.

"I always took things for granted! I never thought about what would happen to me after Vimes died! I've lived my whole life trying to protect him, but now I feel so helpless…"

"So wait a second, Vimes is dead?" asked Lawn.

"No, he's just in Vetinari's head right now." Mrs. Cake told him.

The Guarding Dark looked at her with an expression of hope and disbelief.

"He's alive?"

"As far as Oi can tell."

"I thought he was… Thank you."

* * *

Vetinari and Vimes sat in silence for a while.

"You can feel it can't you?" said Vetinari.

"Feel what?"

Vetinari placed his hands together and stared off into the distance.

"You can feel the connection between you and me."

"I told you I'm not gay."

"You're ability to misconstrue everything I say amazes me."

Vimes tipped his head back. "I didn't misunderstand," he said. "I just don't want to talk about it."

"You're going to have to face it, Vimes. I don't even know what will happen to you when I wake. There is nowhere for you to go back to. I don't even think your body is still alive."

"It is."

"How can you be so sure?"

"I don't really know, but the little girl said that the Guarding Dark stayed behind. He's protected me from myself all these years. I trust him. He won't let me die."

Vetinari sighed internally. "Vimes, for all we know the Guarding Dark was destroyed with your mind. Even if your body is alive, there is no place for your soul to live."

Vimes stood up abruptly. He spun back around so he could look Vetinari in the eye.

"And you think I don't know that?" Vimes shouted with fury that threw the world around them into shadow. "I know how hopeless my situation is! I know that I don't have the skills or experience to find a way to fix this! I don't even know if there is a way to fix this! All I can do is trust that my friends and family can save me!"

"It eats at you," said the Patrician in a voice that revealed nothing. "You normally jump in to a problem and solve it as you go, and here you cannot even jump. You have to depend on others to save you and you hate it. You are completely vulnerable here."

Vimes scowled and didn't answer. The Patrician calmly rose to his feet.

"I torture people, Vimes," he said.

"You've certainly been torturing me for years."

The Patrician smirked and pulled Vimes' face close to his.

"I hurt them. I hear them scream. When I stand over them, I feel alive. I feel the thrill of primal power that is entirely different from the satisfaction of controlling the city. The scorpion pit is not just for show and right now you are defenseless."

Vimes stared directly into Vetinari's steely eyes.

"I know that feeling, sir… I don't like to admit it."

The Patrician slowly shook his head.

"The only difference between you and me is that I have no limitations. You took advantage of me when I was in your mind. What is stopping me from doing the same to you?"

Although he knew well that Vetinari could back up his words, Vimes didn't even flinch at the threat.

"You're stopping yourself."

* * *

Mrs. Cake sat with Dr. Lawn on the couch in the library. Young Sam was talking to the Guarding Dark about how weird it was that earthworms ate dirt but their poo was dirt too. It was one of his life's greatest mysteries. Lawn closed his eyes and sighed.

"So what needs to happen for things to not turn out disastrous?"

"This 'ole situation is already disastrous! When Vetinari wakes up, Vimes might get stuck in his 'ead!" she shouted.

"That would be interesting." Lawn answered sarcastically.

"No, it won't! Vetinari now 'as got four entities crowdin' his 'ead. There's only so far you can push someone's mind."

"Four personalities in one man? Yeah, the Patrician isn't going to get through this with his sanity intact. Actually, I've been questioning his sanity for years. Anyone who dares to try to govern Ankh-Morpork has got to be kooky."

"But they can't all stay in there," said Mrs. Cake. "Vimes is makin' memories. He's buildin' a mind inside someone else's body! He don't belong there and the two memories'll start fightin'. Vimes and Vetinari 'ave got big personalities and the Summoning Dark is no wallflower either. The Weaving Dark is so young. She could just up an' disappear."

"So there's literally a battle going on inside the Patrician's head?" Lawn got to his feet and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"If there ain't one now then there sure as 'ell will be."

"That's bull crap! Vimes is pretty much a dead man and Vetinari's going to become a blabbering idiot because that tit won't leave! Gods damn it! Sybil's going to blame this all on me!"

Lawn groaned in exasperation. It had been a long day and all he wanted was a chance to fire one of his nurses for no discernable reason. He stood with his forehead against the wall and tapped it by lulling his head a few times.

"Givin' yurself brain damage ain't helpin', Doc. What you gonna do?"

Dr. Lawn sighed fatalistically.

"I'm going to do what all great men do in times of stress: delegate."

.

"Me? I don't even know where to start! I can barely move and I can't let go of Vetinari anyways. I've never been here and nothing makes sense and I just want to go home but it's not there anymore."

"It's not there?" shouted Mrs. Cake. "Oi thought Oi couldn't see it because Vetinari moved back to 'is own 'ead! Now you're sayin' you've destroyed Vimes' mind?"

"Lady Sybil will be unhappy about that," grumbled Dr. Lawn. "I'm going to have to leg it out of the city then."

"Wait," said the Guarding Dark. "It's not really gone just empty. The space is still there."

"But there ain't nothin' in it!"

"It's not quite the same. If his memories can be reconstructed then the city will return and I'll be able to go home. Sam needs to create a memory inside his own body but he can't because there isn't anything there for him to exist in while he creates the memory."

Dr. Lawn put a hand over her face in frustration.

"Don't you have his memories? Can't you rebuild his mind with that?"

"No, I keep on telling you I'm not Sam… or, I am, but I'm not the same. I can't restore his mind because it would be mine from my perspective. He would lose too much of himself. I'm not perfect. I can't remember everything that Sam thought was important. I just know what happened and what he was thinking at the time.

"Hold on, you can read Vimes' thoughts?" asked Dr. Lawn suddenly very interested.

"Normally I can but right now it's like he's disappeared."

"What does he think about me?"

"I… I don't think he'd want me to say."

"You're the one who thought he was dead. Just tell me."

"Well… he respects you in a way. Sam doesn't trust any other doctor but he still doesn't trust you. No, it's more like he trusts you more than other doctors, even Igor. What you did for him really changed his life. I know he too would remember that day perfectly clearly."

"So, you remember what happened?" interjected Mrs. Cake.

"Of course, I remember. I love Sam and I would never forget something so important."

"You remember everythin'?"

"Yes, I do, I… got quite caught up in his emotions." The Guarding Dark blushed.

"Well since you two are all cutesy lovey-dovey then start there." Dr. Lawn made a shot in the dark or at the dark if you think of it like that.

"Start what where?"

"He means you can rebuild that part of 'is mind since you're so close and you both remember that day the same," Mrs. Cake explained.

"But what if it's not the same?"

"You said yourself that your thoughts were smothered by the intensity of his emotions," said Dr. Lawn. "You and he were feeling the same thing. Just recreate the memory as you remember."

"But that's only one memory!"

"Meh, it's a start anyway," said Mrs. Cake. "It's gonna be a tiny mind but at least it's somethin' for Vimes to come back to… that is if he's comin' back."

The Guarding Dark grimaced. The thought of losing Sam was somehow physically painful and he didn't understand at all.

"I'll try. I want to help Sam but... um, how do I make a memory?"

"You don't know?" shouted Lawn.

"I'm not exactly human here alright! I don't know how you lot manage to exist in this hell let alone actually bother to remember any of it. Humans are crazy!"

"But you live in a human!"

"So what? You live in Ankh-Morpork."

Dr. Lawn couldn't argue that logic. Mrs. Cake filled in his pause.

"Memories don't just make 'emselves you know. Somethin' 'appens and then you remember it."

"But, I'm the one controlling Vimes's body right now so anything he hears would be stored in my memories not his."

"But you can share a memory," said Lawn. "When you tell a story then it gets created in someone else's mind"

"But that person gots to be listenin' and understandin' at the time. Vimes is neither. If anythin' the memory would appear in the Patrician's 'ead and that's just gonna make the problem worse."

"Maybe if I had a proper mind of my own then he could recreate his world there."

"You don't have a mind of your own?" said Dr. Lawn flatly. "You are just full of helpfulness."

"Hey, I'm just a Dark! My mind isn't good enough for Sam to stand in. It doesn't have all the elements that a human memory needs."

"Why not?" asked Dr. Lawn. This whole situation had been irking him from the start and the Guarding Dark's ignorance was stretching his patience to the limit.

"Um…"

"Have you ever tried it?"

"I've never had to."

"Well, you didn't think you could be controlling his body either but here you are," Lawn said in that singsong voice that upset adults use when talking to children. "You're not just a Dark anymore, you have a human body. You should be making human memories right now."

"I... uh…"

A malevolent smile spread across Dr. Lawn's face and he kicked the Guarding Dark's shin making him shout.

"Hey!" yelled Young Sam. His protests were thoroughly ignored.

"Ha, so you _are_ making human memories. You remember pain. Let's see what other memories we could give you."

"I don't think I'm going to like this," whimpered the Guarding Dark.

Mrs. Cake stared at him with the same vicious smile Lawn that wore.

"See you're learnin' already. That feelin' in your body, that's what fear actually feels like."

"I know what fear feels like already," said the Guarding Dark in a feeble attempt to delay the inevitable.

"Each emotion has a corporal reaction associated with it," explained Dr. Lawn. "You don't really know fear by the emotion itself. You know fear when you piss your pants in horror."

"I get the feeling this is going to hurt."

"Removing the pillow was just the beginning. If you're going to make enough human memories for Vimes to come back to, then you are in for some nasty surprises. Maybe you'll appreciate Vimes better once we test out anger. Let's just say that there is a reason why you exist."

.

.

Review please? Maybe?


	11. Chapter 11

The Weaving Dark had finally finished her project. She twirled around and stroked the Summoning Dark. Its tail twitched for a fraction of a second. It followed the little girl and carried the lace that her arms were too small to hold. She ran over to Vetinari and unceremoniously stuffed them into his lap.

"I'm done." she said, proud of her work. She smiled ear to ear and rocked back and forth on her heels.

Vimes peeked over Vetinari's shoulder. He was curious but didn't want to intrude.

"They're stunning. You made ribbons too," said Vetinari soothingly. He ran his fingers through the bundle of delicate ribbons and lace that she had spent so much time on. "Thank you." He whispered. His face displayed a level of gratitude and sincerity that the rest of the world would never see.

The Weaving Dark hugged Vetinari's shoulders. She was a little embarrassed at receiving such genuine praise and decided not to mention the fact that she had switched to making ribbons because the lace was taking too long.

"I've tried some new techniques that I never thought of before. Do you see here? I could never make that before because I never had a string long enough."

Vetinari smiled softly. "And, this one, it's truly exquisite. The colors seem to shine brighter than usual."

"The Summoning Dark helped me with that one."

Both Vimes and Vetinari looked at the Summoning Dark incredulously. If a floating haze of pure evil could blush then it would look a lot like that.

"It told me that different shades of black look really nice when they're next to certain colors. It showed me how to tell one black from another. See this one?"

The Weaving Dark held out a jet black ribbon. Vetinari hesitated. He didn't want to touch it.

"Come on, at least try it. The Summoning Dark worked so hard."

Vetinari delicately drew his fingers along the length of the black ribbon. When he got to the end, he bent double and started coughing like a man just saved from drowning. Vimes gave him a stiff pat on the back.

The Weaving Dark waited anxiously for Vetinari's judgment. The Summoning Dark floated backwards a little. Vimes watched it cautiously. He thought it was strange to see his beast so calm. This little girl had tamed a lion and she had said the Guarding Dark was stronger than her?

_Damn, what has been living in my head all this time!_

Vetinari recovered and slowly lifted his head astonished.

"That was…" He didn't finish the sentence, he just handed it over to Vimes.

Vimes held the ribbon gently as if it would break. He ran it through his fingers.

"Wow, that's," Vimes fumbled for a word to describe it, "elegant."

"Elegant, Vimes? That's hardly what I would consider elegant!"

Vimes scowled at the Patrician's insult. The Summoning Dark's tail curled in annoyance. It drew closer.

"Beat it, Fuzz Face!" Vimes snapped to the Summoning Dark. It narrowed its single eye at him and flew behind the Weaving Dark.

Vimes returned his attention to the ribbon in his hand. No matter how Vetinari felt about it, Vimes could see how beautiful it really was. He smiled. It was truly a masterful piece of work. Vetinari watched with incomprehension as Vimes inspect the ribbon closely.

"What is it about that ribbon that has you so captivated?"

"I'm… I don't know," said Sam, his finger trailing swirls on the surface. "I just want to hold it for a while. It's, well… it's hard to describe."

"Try me."

"You know I've been angry most of my life, and I think I might count as a connoisseur of sorts."

"I'm sure you have trophies in competitive seething and a PHD in applied argumentative theory."

"Thank you, sir," Vimes said, rolling his eyes "I meant that I know a lot about anger and I can tell you that this is high quality anger."

The Summoning Dark puffed up a little at the complement and tapped its tail on the cobbles, the deadly miasmic equivalent of a fist pump.

"It just looks black to me," said Vetinari raising an eyebrow.

"It's more complicated than that." Vimes paused for a moment. "There's a lot of power in anger, see, and you can't leave loose loops and such like in lace, because one part would tear and unravel the whole thing. I can't really explain it properly. It's like every thread is trying to attack the ones next to it. It doesn't make much sense to me since I've never seen anything like it before but in this ribbon all of the anger is defending and attacking at the same time. They're even working together somehow."

Vimes smiled proudly at the Weaving Dark. She looked at the ground.

"You've managed to pair together rages of similar strengths in a way that keeps the ribbon from falling apart. It's… balanced."

The Weaving Dark smiled softly at her toes. She fidgeted a bit and glanced up.

"Do you… like it?"

Vimes nodded and handed the ribbon back to Vetinari who stared at it in disbelief.

"You can get all that just by touching it? These aren't even your memories."

"I told you I'm an expert. I deal with anger all the time. It's what I'm good at."

Vetinari ran the ribbon through his fingers slowly this time. He tried to focus on the positions of each thread and as he touched them, the anger rushed at him violently like river rapids, but it was different this time. He could feel the forces fighting against each other diverting the flow around him. The river was still there but all its lethal strength had been weakened. Vetinari blinked in astonishment.

"That was… exhilarating. I always thought…"

The girl beamed "It's nice to know that you can always be dead wrong."

Vetinari laughed. He didn't really understand why he was laughing but the happiness was real and for a short time even this crazy world was heaven. It was a perfect moment, a nascent dream deep within foreboding chaos.

.

* * *

.

The Guarding Dark learned what food really tastes like, not just the memory of eating. He learned what it felt like to hold Young Sam and understood completely why Vimes would risk everything to protect him. The Guarding Dark didn't want to let go, but the draining effect of his touch could not be ignored. Sam wiggled out of his arms and the Guarding Dark learned of a different kind of pain. In fact there were so many different kinds of pain that he got confused as to which one was related to what action.

After a while, The Guarding Dark desperately wanted to get up and go exploring.

"No, Sybil said you had to stay here and keep hold of Vetinari," said Dr. Lawn.

The Guarding Dark was torn between his loyalty to Vimes and his desire to simply swallow the disc in order to find out what it tasted like. In the end fear of the unknown settled in and made the decision for him.

"I think I'll stay here then."

"Good choice. I would have had to knock you out otherwise, and then you wouldn't be able to make more memories."

.

* * *

.

Corporal Ping had been watching from behind the chariot as Lady Sybil confronted Dearheart. He had been trying to stop people from stealing it and had been only somewhat successful. Then Willikins had taken it from him saying something about dragons and now he felt more useless than normal. He wanted to help the Commander but those golems were blocking his path to Lady Sybil. He would have joined up with Dorfl again but he wanted to stay well away from that Dearheart woman.

Bereft of options, Corporal Ping decided it was best for him to go back to the mansion. He wasn't running from his duties at all. He was simply reassigning himself to a different front. That's right. Dr. Lawn needed protection. He was an integral part of this operation. Nothing wrong with a defensive post.

He didn't get very far before Angua cornered him.

.

* * *

.

Vetinari sat looking through the ribbons and lace. He touched each one separately and put them into piles. A few of them he tossed aside. Vimes picked those up and tried to figure out why they were apparently useless.

"Do you remember the moving pictures fiasco, Vimes?" asked Vetinari.

"I had blissfully forgotten until just now."

"I was there at the theatre beside them, the two actors. They weren't very special people but I could feel something peculiar. There was a certain kind of glow that came to me simply because I was near them, close to someone who was loved by so many. It was… a memorable emotion.

People love and respect you, Vimes, not because of how efficient you are, but because of who you are. It's the same way with Sybil, and to a greater degree, Young Sam. I want to be with you, to be part of that. I want to feel that faint yet overpowering emotion again.

"So you want people to love you?"

"Oh gods no! Being hated by the people of Ankh-Morpork does wonders for my distinctive style of tyranny. What I want is for you and your family to love me."

"Should I make Sam call you Uncle Havelock then?"

"No, that would be much too awkward."

"I'm not sure if the added awkwardness would make much difference to the massive pile already on the scales."

Vetinari thought for a moment while twisting a piece of lace between his fingers. He tossed it to Vimes.

"I think I'd like for him to call me Grandfather."

"How the hell is that any less awkward?"

"Perhaps not for you, but it would help me tremendously."

"But you're not that much older than I am!"

"Yet I am still older, Grandfather is a more fitting title than Uncle. I don't want him to assume I am your brother."

"And getting thought of as my father is any better?"

"If I married your mother after you were born then you technically wouldn't be my son."

"But that never happened!"

"Is your mother still alive?"

"No!"

"Pity," said Vetinari letting a ribbon drop slowly from his hand.

"Bloody hell, Vetinari! That's sick!"

"It is sick, but not below my personal limit of depravity."

"Nothing is below your depravity limit."

"Oh ye of little faith. I do have some laws of my own. Otherwise I'd find it difficult to retain my identity."

"I can't believe that you would limit yourself in any way. Why would a man like you deliberately block options for world domination?"

"Because I enjoy living in the game so much more if I do."

"So that's it? The game wouldn't be worth playing without any rules."

"Oh the disc already has enough rules to make things fun. The extra laws are just there to keep me sane while I'm playing. It's all too easy to lose oneself in a fantasy world of lies and speculation. I have to keep myself grounded somehow."

"Really," said Vimes flatly. "Name one of your so called laws."

"I never use children."

"Use children?"

"None of my schemes ever involve children, even if they volunteer. I do not kidnap children for leverage. I do not employ them for spying, infiltration, or distraction. I will not personally order any of my men to kill a child. I do not strike children even if they so clearly need it. In theory, they are the only people I can acceptably be gentle to. I need to be hated by everyone else, but I never actively seek out the disapproval of children."

"Why? A rule like that would be crippling to a man as evil as you are."

"Oh yes, there have been many times that I've wanted to break that rule. Children are more useful than you would think."

"So why even set a limitation like that?"

"Are you really that curious?"

"No, but it's not going to stop me from asking. You never tell me anything. It'd be an achievement to get you to give me a straight answer about cabbage. I'll get a ruddy trophy for this one."

"You keep score? Is there a point system for interactions with me or is it based on crowd approval? I wonder what you do during the off-season. Do you go to the hospital and train in the eyebrow raising competitions in the psych ward? I hear it's quite the spectacle."

.

* * *

.

Doctor Lawn had stumbled upon a strange topic of conversation with Young Sam. He had never met a child so well-informed of the intricacies of scatology. It was boggling how two people so different from each other could be brought together by a mutual interest in poo.

Dr. Lawn taught Young Sam the inner workings of the human digestive system. The boy was amazed at how hard a body had to work in order to create the fascinating brown logs that the ignorant disregarded every day. Lawn wrote out a list of foods most likely to give gas. Sam looked at it as if it could turn lead into gold.

Sam listened intently as Dr. Lawn explained in detail exactly why his mother wanted him to eat leafy green vegetables.

"No one told me!" he gasped and hurried downstairs.

.

* * *

.

Sybil stood resolutely within the circle of golems. Even with her dragons, the playing field wasn't even yet. She was about to fix that.

"I have a proposition to make," said Sybil. "You step down now and give me back my husband or you're going to have to say goodbye to yours."

One of the dragons grabbed a hold of Moist and pulled him into the center. Adora Belle Dearheart glowered at her.

"You wouldn't dare."

Admiral Raphael Mistonk Tirabathu Sr. snorted a puff of smoke into Lipwig's face.

"Please do what the dragon lady says," Moist pleaded.

Adora completely ignored him.

"I won't let you intimidate me! Golems are indestructible."

"Ah but your husband is not," Sybil pointed out. "Mrs. Tabitha Sailor Germaine is quite skittish. A golem could scare her to death."

Adora held up a hand to stop the golem she had sent out. No human can survive an explosion from a swamp dragon without proper equipment.

"Moist's gold suit may not be dragon proof but neither is your disco ball dress. You'd go down with him."

"I'd rather not go down at all if that's okay with you?" said Moist.

"Shut it! You're the one responsible for this!" Adora shouted.

Dearheart motioned the ring of golems to close in. Moist panicked.

"It's a lie Adora! You know me. I wouldn't do a thing like that! I mean, not without some sort of profit."

Dearheart gave him a cold stare as the golems closed in. Suddenly a burst of orange dragon flame lit up the area. Sybil stood in the center. The golden light reflected off her mirror-like dress.

"Retreat and resume your duties." Sybil ordered in a clear voice.

Most of the golems turned away. They blindly followed the commands of the priestess dressed in gold. They disappeared down alleys and into buildings until only the free ones remained.

"Call them back, Moist."

"Hell no! You tried to kill me!"

"It doesn't matter anyway," said Adora. "Ten golems are more than enough to wipe the floor with you, Duchess."

"What makes you think Mrs. Tabitha is my only weapon?"

"Your magical light show is only smoke and mirrors. Admit it. You have nothing."

Sybil flashed a cocky grin. Madam Cauliflower walked up beside her, and shot out a blast of not fire as expected, but ice. The moisture in the air froze in an instant. Moist von Lipwig froze in fear. He let out a screech and fainted.

"So what? Your little salamander is just like all the others."

"Do you remember the fire at the post office, Dearheart? I'm sure you do. Wasn't there an unfortunate death? Your golems may not wear out but they aren't invincible."

Admiral Raphiel Mistonk Tirabathu Sr. sent a burst of flame towards Lipwig's feet. The heat woke him just in time for him to shuffle backwards with his captor. The cobbles glowed hot. Madame Cauliflower shot the ground with ice causing the cobbles to crack violently. Moist screamed and passed out again.

Adora held back her golems and the game board stabilized. She glared at Sybil with the combined ferocity of a whole pride of lions. Sybil stared back at her undeterred.

"Check."

.

* * *

.

Back in the library, Dr. Lawn rolled a pencil across the table out of sheer boredom. Mrs. Cake relaxed on the sofa with a huge grin on her face.

"Shouldn't you be doing something?" asked Lawn irritably.

"Meh, they're pretty stable now. Oi can just sit 'ere and enjoy the edges of probability."

"Fine then," said Dr. Lawn, desperate for some kind of distraction. "Is there anything interesting on the event horizon of impossibility?"

"Ooo oo oo ooooo. This one is nice!"

"What is it?"

"Well, it's fuzzy but the audio is still intact. It seems like Vetinari is gonna let Vimes take some sort of revenge."

"He's just going to sit there as Vimes hits him?"

"Nah he's already done that. This one's just weird."

"Weird for you is completely inconceivable to the rest of the disk."

Mrs. Cake moved her head slightly from side to side, grumbling silently. She screwed up her face in concentration.

"Here's another one with Vetinari coughin' up pieces of some sort of tiny castle."

"And that's not the weird one?"

"Not by far! There's a few in 'ere that involve magic and anythin' goes with magic—"

Mrs. Cake suddenly went quiet. Even the Guarding Dark and Young Sam looked up. Lawn was about to try to wake her when she leapt to her feet.

"Damn it not this again!" Mrs. Cake shouted, grabbing her bag and hat. "Those good for nothin' wizards are gonna mess this up! And the priests too! Well not today!"

Mrs. Cake bustled towards the door but stopped abruptly halfway there. She cursed and closed her eyes again.

"Oi can't go! Somethin' bad is gonna 'appen to the dynamic duo soon," She turned back around. "But if Oi don't go then there's not even a chance of getting' out of this dead! Why does everythin' 'ave to 'appen at once?"

Mrs. Cake searched the trousers of time for something remotely favorable. She landed on a combination with the best chance of avoiding catastrophe and headed for the door.

"You're on your own on this one, Lawn. If Oi'm goin' down Oi'm gonna do it in a world without wizards."

"Wait, what am I supposed to do?"

"Ask the Dark."

.

* * *

.

Mrs. Cake took the coach and raced back to her house. She was going to need something to give her that extra edge. She uncovered what appeared to be a simple stick with a black glass box attached to one end for protection.

"Tee hee, I've wanted to use this for years!"

It was by pure chance that she had heard about it years ago. It had been hard to track it down, but eventually she found it in a blacksmith's shop in some tiny hick town. They had just forgotten about it as if it were just another farm tool. On the plus side, Mrs. Cake got a really good deal on it. She grabbed the stick with both hands and charged out the door. She cracked the reins and laughed manically.

Heehaw, futher mucker!"

.

* * *

.

Lawn tugged on his hair in exasperation.

"Alright, so something bad is going to happen, we don't know what it is, and the only person who could help us has done a runner," he turned to Sam. "You're a bright lad. I'm open to suggestions."

Young Sam shrugged.

"I don't know. I'm a kid. You're the doctor."

"I'm a doctor not a fortuneteller!"

Dr. Lawn sighed in defeat. He slumped over in his chair and put his head on the desk.

"I need a drink…"

"Dad says that's bad."

"Your father is a bleeding hypocrite."

"He's bleeding!" Sam gasped and ran over to the Guarding Dark. "Are you okay?"

"I feel a bit hungry."

"Oh, shut up!" shouted Dr. Lawn. "You just want me to bring you more pie. I should never have given you that."

"No I mean it."

Young Sam stood up for the Guarding Dark. Young Sam would not be ignored.

"The lady said—"

"I know what she said!" snapped Lawn. He sighed. "Fine what do you want to eat?"

"Well pie would be nice of course but I feel like I should have something different… something crunchy?"

"We already went through the crispy bit. Now it's crunchy?"

"It also kind of feels fluffy but not the good fluffy. It's the kind of fluff that you can't get off your black suit or like that stuffy prickly feeling when you're about to sneeze. No wait I got it. It feels like when you have a sore throat and you're coughing but it still itches and hurts at the same time."

Dr. Lawn put a hand over his eyes.

"What the hell am I supposed to do about that? I'm supposed to cure disease not spread it!"

"Don't look at me. You're the one who asked how I feel."

.

* * *

.

Vimes and Vetinari sat together on the front steps of a building. Everything that needed to be done had been finished and all that was left was waiting.

"Vimes?"

"Hmm?"

Vetinari went quiet for a considerable amount of time. His emotional defenses had repaired themselves and now he was back to his usual cold demeanor and blank face. The Patrician sighed inwardly.

"I want to show you something that Sybil shared with me."

Vimes was automatically cautious but held it back. He watched as Vetinari raised his face towards the sky and did the last thing that he expected.

Vetinari started to sing.

Sam recognized it even though he had never heard this particular arrangement before. It was the song of Tears-of-the-Mushroom, the goblin girl who brought justice to her race by opening the hearts of world leaders.

There were no words and Vetinari's voice wasn't all that great but the sound told a tale nonetheless. It spoke of imprisonment and redemption, of a solemn journey to paradise and the guilt earned upon reaching it. It was a story of a lifetime of accusations and regret, but still the gentle kindness of the undeserving. It was a genuine promise of the forgiveness of crimes and the gift of healing to those who had long ago lost something precious, for those people who had given up ever finding it again, and those to whom atonement seemed unattainable.

And when Vetinari could sing no longer, the Weaving Dark sang for him, in a voice so innocent and pure that the music transformed without changing a note. It stabbed through Vimes' chest and choked his heart. Such beautiful music in the loving hands of the Weaving Dark struck him violently over and over, but his protective anger wouldn't answer him. The kind and gentle notes seemed to engulf him. Vimes struggled to breathe.

The Weaving Dark sang of tiny moments of generosity glowing faintly in a torrential sea, of the fleeting hope of potential and the pride at its fulfillment, of those insignificant actions that surface when they are needed most. She sang for the unacknowledged bubbles of happiness that are lost every day, those shards of kindness that are given but never received. The wordless notes told of the raw fear felt by the tormented and their rejection of solace. Suddenly, Vimes couldn't take it anymore.

"Stop it!" he gasped. He gripped his chest and dropped his head protectively around it. The song hurt so much that he couldn't stay standing. He stumbled and landed on something warm.

In the soft cradle of darkness Vimes felt the sadness and pain drip away. He blearily opened his eyes and saw what was supporting him. It was an animal of some sort; its hair was course yet plush. It lowered him to the ground with the utmost delicacy.

Sam felt a hand touch him gently. He knew who it was without turning. Someone silently sat down beside him. He could hear another settle into the lap of the first.

In the silence, the beast let him hold on to its fur, and for a long time, the world stood still.

Sam stared at the single eye of the Summoning Dark. It reached out to him and all Sam wanted was to allow it. The anger and sorrow of the beast flowed around him, through him, and into his heart where the fear and hatred finally made sense. Sam let himself be lost in the bittersweet feeling, the pain and security of the Summoning Dark. The spring of anger that had been curled so tightly inside him began to unwind. The tension creaked and buckled. Soon the fierce intensity of seeing himself in the eye of the Summoning Dark became too much.

Sam blacked out in the warm comfort of its fur.

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* * *

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"Crap, crap, crap, this isn't fair!" Dr. Lawn shouted.

"What does crap mean?" asked Young Sam.

"It means I'm going to tan your hide if you don't get me some damn alcohol right this minute!"

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I assure you I have good reasons for making Sam suffer. Up next: badass Cake is badass. And later: the Weaving Dark gets assertive.


	12. Chapter 12

This is the happy chapter. The next chapter won't be so happy…

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Distractions are universal. In every world there is a phrase equivalent to 'you can't catch me.' The addition of 'niener niener niener' is optional. Some would think that eventually it would stop working. They are wrong. Mrs. Cake had succeeded in attracting the attention of a group of priests based on the tried and true technique of existing. She was actually trying to lead the wizards away from Sator Square but the priests had made pretty good bait. Among the group was Hughnon Ridcully the brother of Archchancellor Ridcully of Unseen University. If Mrs. Cake threatened one then the other would surely follow, not because of some sort of familial loyalty, but because neither of them would ever ignore the chance to one up the other.

"Come at me bros!" Mrs. Cake taunted. She held her stick casually. It was almost twice her height.

The priests and the wizards had joined forces in the loosest use of the phrase. A more accurate description would be that they were standing close to each other and not currently hostile. The Archchancellor stood beside his brother.

"Well then, this is your chance to get your revenge. Take her down if you're man enough."

Hughnon Ridcully stepped forwards and pointed his scepter at Cake threateningly.

"I've got a bone to pick with you and I'm not going to hold back!"

"Good, you'll need all the 'elp you can get."

"She's bluffing," said the Priestess of Anoia. "Even Mrs. Cake has to answer to the power of the gods."

"Ooo give her a good smiting!"

"You asked for it madam." Priest Ridcully said as he tapped his holy scepter on the cobbles and reached for the heavens. "Oh Blind Io, strike down the heathen who hath troubled your people long since hence. Bestow your divine wrath on this demon who hath desecrated your temples."

A dramatic thunderclap rattled the windows in the square and a bolt of white lightning tore through the sky.

Mrs. Cake demurely sidestepped the strike.

"Damn you woman!"

"Tee hee hee."

"Very impressive, brother."

"Shut up!" shouted Hughnon.

"Do you need some help in your little scuffle with an old lady?"

"Oi 'eard that!" shouted Mrs. Cake.

Hughnon Ridcully sighed and grabbed another priest by the collar.

"You do it. Om is supposed to be a vengeful god."

"Well yes but most of his powers are overkill for this kind of thing."

"Wasn't he known for opening the ground beneath people and plunging them into the depths of fire and brimstone? Just ask him to do that. Cake can't dodge that."

"Well you see Om gets a little carried away. It's not really all that precise to begin with and right now…"

"Can you bloody well do it or not?"

"Yes but it would level half the city in the process."

"I've got snakes!" chimed in another priest. "Can't go wrong with snakes."

"She's got a stick," said High Priest Ridcully. "She could just hit them away."

"But Offler can do really good pythons. Get enough of them together and you can't carry a stick big enough."

"Yoo-hoo, Oi'm waiting," Mrs. Cake called out.

The Archchancellor sniggered at his brother's expense. The other wizards held back. Any situation involving Mrs. Cake was a cause for caution. The Brothers Ridcully were throwing spanners into an already complex problem and the whole thing could explode at any minute.

"Fine we'll go with the snakes," Hughnon decided.

The priest of Offler danced and chanted. Three giant snakes erupted out of the ground like land mines. Mrs. Cake broke the glass at the end of her stick and disengaged the clasp. A thin line of silence followed as the released metal sliced the air. The blade of the scythe was cold and unnaturally sharp. It went 'shing' as Cake neatly bisected an attacking python with the kind of surgical precision that would make an igor squeal in delight.

The wizards and priests gawped.

"Damn…" said Hughnon.

"Right…" For once the two Ridcullys agreed on something.

"That's not your ordinary stick."

"My stick is far from ordinary as well, brother."

"Can it do that?" said Hughnon gesturing at the clean remains of three giant snakes.

"Well no," said Mustrum "but mine isn't a scythe. It has a knob not a blade. It's more of a bludgeoning weapon."

"I'm sure I could be properly bludgeoned by a scythe like that even if it doesn't have a knob."

"Can't you do anything?" said Mustrum teasingly, "Or do you need me to help you?"

"That's Mrs. Cake in case you haven't noticed! You can't touch her either!"

"Is that all you got?" Cake jeered.

"She's taunting you," said Mustrum with mock sympathy.

"She's taunting us," Hughnon corrected. "We're on the same side. Don't pretend you don't know me just because she killed a snake."

"I'm very sentimental about my reptiles. I'm sure you have everything under control."

"Right, it's not like you're powerful enough to do anything anyway."

"I'm warning you. I could turn you into a newt right this second!"

"Well well, that is a useful skill. Why don't you try using it on Mrs. Cake?" said High Priest Ridcully.

"Fine then, Wrangler? Do your stuff."

"Um… I don't have that particular spell at the moment, Archchancellor" muttered the Senior Wrangler.

"Do I have to do everything by myself? What's the point of being Archchancellor if I can't delegate tasks?"

"Leave this to me, sir" said Ponder.

"Jolly good. Go on then."

"He's a dead man," whispered Mustrum.

"Yes but does he know that?" Hughnon replied.

Ponder withdrew a brown package from the depths of his robes and gingerly untied the string around it.

"What's that kid?" teased Mrs. Cake. "Some of your favorite things?"

"Hah, shows what you know! This is the newest prototype thaum-alchemic-photo explosive. You have no idea what it does! You can read the future in this case because your power it's all based on statistical probabilities. You have no data to form the basis of your hypothesis. The trousers of time are infinite!"

Ponder Stibbons laughed maniacally.

"It's just a ruddy flash bomb isn't it?"

Stibbons deflated.

"Alright, who's next?" said the Archchancellor. "You priests have been useless so far."

The priests huddled together like a poorly equipped football team.

"Can't you summon a plague of locusts or something?"

"At this time of year? Are you insane?"

"Rats then?"

"The rats around here are too intelligent to fall for that. They're probably all working for Vetinari anyway."

While the priests debated on which god would be the least useless, the wizards got down to actually fixing things… sort of.

"Actually I think Stibbons was on to something there," said the Chair of indefinite studies.

"And?"

"What about that one thing that the Bursar does? Could that work?"

"Let's find out. Bursar, get over here!"

"Yes, Archchancellor?"

"Here drink this."

Ridcully poured a shot of blue-grey fluid into the little cup he kept in his hat. The Bursar gazed at the gift like it was the elixir of life with sprinkles on top. His eyes glistened.

"Really? Can I really?"

"Yes, yes, get on with it."

The Bursar drank the liquid with panache.

"I don't think you should have done that," said the Senior Wrangler. "This can't end well."

"Nonsense," said the Archchancellor, "if there was ever a time to let the Bursar have some fun, this would be it."

"You have no other ideas do you?" said his brother.

"Not a thing!"

* * *

Sam awoke with a start, gasping for air and trying to remember where he was. He saw threads strewn out around him. The Weaving Dark sat knitting diligently with more delicacy this time as if they could break at any second.

"Glad to see you're up," said the Weaving Dark "or alive for that matter."

Vimes managed to find his voice. It sounded so distant "You're the… I was… I'm not dead am I?"

"I'm not sure but I figure you wouldn't be here if you were dead, and I'm pretty sure there's supposed to be a tall guy in black when you die."

Vimes looked around and found the Patrician lying beside him. The Weaving Dark chuckled.

"No, not him, I meant Death. You've probably met him before. You know the one with the shiny blue eyes that can see into your soul."

Vimes glanced at Vetinari then back at the Weaving Dark.

"Okay, fine, I'll give you that one, but there is one major difference between the two." The Weaving Dark sighed and gave Vimes a worried look. "Havelock has a life that he can give."

Vimes was suddenly overcome with horror. He shook the Patrician in desperation.

"Come on, wake up! You can't just die!"

"I can die whenever I damn well please."

Vimes sat back, relieved. He grinned with a mixture of gratitude, guilt, joy, and ire.

"Well you're not going to get a chance, not while I'm around."

"Oh, go away, Samuel."

The Weaving Dark attracted his attention before Vimes had a chance to think.

"It was a nice thing you did for the Summoning Dark. I've never seen it so happy."

Vimes tried to remember what had happened.

"There was a wolf or something. That was him, I think."

The Weaving Dark glared at him.

"Now, you can't just force a gender on it like that. The Summoning Dark has just been properly born. These things take time."

"What? It changed? Where is he—I mean it, anyway?"

"It left. It said it would be coming back though."

"You let it go? It's going to kill someone!"

"How do you know?" the Weaving Dark accused. "You never gave it a chance to see the other Vimes, the one who kisses his wife and plays with his little boy. You don't know what it will do when it finds itself in a world completely different than the horrible places that you normally set it free in. The Summoning Dark is not human or even vaguely human like. It can't shift between realities like humans do. It's probably really scared.

I don't know whether you're alive or not and there's no way I can find out until the Summoning Dark comes back. Even if you could go, I wouldn't let you leave without cleaning up this mess." She gestured to the scattered threads. "You're going to help me stitch these memories together, or I swear I'll keep them for myself!"

"You better start spooling, Vimes," muttered Vetinari. He tried to sit up but failed.

The Weaving Dark glared at Vimes.

"You nasty man, look at this! At least half of its black! I can hardly tell one thread from another, and now that the Summoning Dark is gone, it's hard to balance them. On top of that, you let the memories go too quickly. Almost all of them are extra thin and they've all gone off in different directions!"

"Sorry."

"And the worst part is you hurt Lucky! You're staying right here, Mister and you better not break anything!"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Here's a spool. When you find a string, wind it around the spool and give it to me. I'll get this done faster this way. I'm not making you any lace either."

He picked up the closest thread and started to wind it up. He broke it.

"I told you not to break them! Now the ribbon is going to have a bump in it."

"Sorry."

"You'd better keep the two pieces together." Vetinari said. "She's going to be mad if she can't find the other end of the memory." He was still lying on the ground. His face looked slightly less dead than it had before. "I feel like shit."

"I'd be surprised if you didn't, the way you look."

"Impeccable bedside manner, I shall have to make a suggestion to Dr. Lawn."

"If you try that, I'm going to make a suggestion to Mrs. Cake."

Vetinari grimaced.

"Can I touch you, Vimes?"

Sam mentally adjusted the words to have a more appropriate meaning.

"Fine by me, but I'll need room to untangle these threads."

Vimes reviewed the sentence in his head and deemed it sufficiently free of innuendos.

"Damn it," Vimes cursed as another one snapped.

"I said stop breaking them! You're even worse than that time Drumknott showed up, and he just stood there doing nothing the whole time!"

Vetinari sniggered. Then he was struck by a thought.

"You're lighter, Vimes."

Sam glanced at him with impatient irritation.

"I don't know how to explain it," Vetinari continued. "You feel less burdensome. It's easier for me to carry you in my mind. Before you were heavy and hard to hold on to, but now you're not so unwieldy. You're less… spiky."

"Um, and that means?"

"Haven't the foggiest."

"Less chatting, more spooling!"

* * *

The wizards and priests watched the Bursar giggled unsteadily as the drink took effect.

"How long has it been since he did this last?" asked Hughnon Ridcully.

Mustrum Ridcully patted him on the back jovially.

"Oh don't you worry about little things like that."

"Maybe we should have gone with praying to Om."

The Bursar's head wobbled rhythmically as he stumbled forward. He cooed like a giant pigeon. Everyone took a step back including Mrs. Cake.

"Yeah, are you scared, Mrs. Cupcake?" said Ponder Stibbons. "Your stupid stick's not so sharp now, eh?"

"He doesn't know does he? Tell me he doesn't know."

"He's either ignorant or suicidal."

"And he was doing so well too. Showed lots of promise."

The Bursar came to a sudden halt and sat down lightly on the cobbles. 'Lightly' was a good word for it. He wasn't so much as sitting as such, but floating. It seemed like he was only attached to the ground because it just happened to be there at the moment. He closed his eyes and slowly moved his hands side to side in time with music that only he could hear.

"What's he doing?" asked High Priest Ridcully.

"It's a rare talent among wizards," answered Mustrum. "You have to be a bit barmy to pull it off properly. The Bursar is a natural. It's called Metro-Gnome."

The priestess of Anoia gasped.

"I will not condone gambling, sir!"

Hughnon Ridcully waved his hand dismissively.

"Bah, life's a gamble. Get over it."

The Archchancellor raised his staff dramatically.

"Alright everyone let's play Spin the Bursar!"

* * *

As Corporal Ping and Angua approached the Ramkin estate, Angua suddenly started running full tilt. She flung open the door not bothering to knock and dashed up the stairs to the library. She crossed the library and yanked Dr. Lawn's arms behind his back.

"The Corporal didn't mention Lord Vetinari," she growled. "You are going to tell me everything or I will end your career right now."

"Stop that!"

Angua looked down at the face of a very angry Young Sam. She loosened her grip but didn't let go. It was then that Corporal Ping ran into the room.

"Bloody hell, no one told me the Patrician was in here! Gods damn it! We are all going to hang for this!"

"What are you doing here?" shouted Dr. Lawn. "You weren't even supposed to be part of this!"

"Stop shouting," pleaded the Guarding Dark.

The two watchmen immediately went silent. Corporal Ping stood at attention, but Angua didn't assume so quickly. Commander Vimes had taught her well. She dropped Dr. Lawn's hands and crouched beside Vimes' body. She looked into his eyes and frowned.

"You," she said skeptically, "You're not Mr. Vimes, are you?"

"Well, um sort of—"

* * *

The wizards stepped up their game. Mrs. Cake leaned on her scythe disinterestedly.

"Alright, who wants to go first?" the Archchancellor called out.

"Oo, oo, pick me, pick me!" said the Chair of Indefinite Studies bouncing on his toes.

The Chair spun the Bursar around by his shoulder

"Hmm weak start that, probably for the best," said Mustrum Ridcully.

"Why?" asked the High Priest.

Mustrum ginned. He never passed up a chance to point out his brother's ignorance.

"The results become more unpredictable as he gets dizzier. It's best to warm up with something small, but I'm worried Mrs. Cake will see it coming if he's not spinning fast enough."

"So it's like a roulette wheel?"

"You could say that."

The Bursar's turning slowed. He stopped unexpectedly as if momentum was something you could switch off. The bursar's waving hands sparked.

A nearby potted plant suddenly gained sentience and lunged at Mrs. Cake. She was ready and waiting with scythe in hand. Thorns shot out its flowers in all directions. Mrs. Cake hadn't foreseen that and almost got a face full of needles. The wizards and the priests cheered.

"Ah ha. We have you now!" shouted Ponder Stibbons.

"It's actually working! I thought I'd never see the day!" said the priest of Om.

"Sure everyone gang up on the old lady." Mrs. Cake pouted her lips and batted her eyes.

Archchancellor Ridcully pointed his staff at her in a way that would frighten someone who wasn't Mrs. Cake.

"You know damn well you're not just an old lady. That's like saying Vetinari is just an old man!"

A heavy silence followed the Archchancellor's words.

"You did not just say that," Hughnon said.

"Well it's true."

The High Priest put his hand to his forehead and looked at his brother incredulously.

"If he finds out—"

"And he will," added the priestess of Anoia.

"You are going to hang."

"Oh rubbish, the Patrician wouldn't execute a wizard."

"Oi wouldn't be so sure about that," Mrs. Cake interrupted. "Oi've been keepin' track of 'im and he's a bit out of sorts right now. Lot of futures say he's gonna get back with a temper."

"What? You know where he is?"

"Physically."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"Not tellin' you."

"This is a matter of social stability!" shouted Priest Ridcully. "If you know anything, it's your civic duty to tell us!"

"Just spin your twirly bird and we'll see who does the talkin'."

"All right then it's my turn," said the Archchancellor. "You better prepare for trouble Cake. I've done this before."

Ridcully rubbed his hands together and opted to spin the Bursar by his foot.

"Very nice," commented the Senior Wrangler. "More leverage farther away from the center."

The Bursar made a soft clacking sound as he twisted around and around at high speed. Once again he halted subconsciously transforming the cut off momentum into a directed force. He moved his fingers in time with an internal beat and sparks leapt off his hands.

A blazing sphere of molten lava shot out of the ground at Mrs. Cake. It was only luck that she was holding her scythe in such a way as to slice right through it. The unnaturally cold edge instantly solidified the lava from the inside out. Two hemispheres of rock crashed onto the street behind her. Afterwards, a dwarf would pick them up and cook up a new dwarf bread recipe based on them.

"Blast!"

"Move over and let a wizard with real talent have a go," said the Senior Wrangler

"That would be me then," said the Lecturer in Recent Runes.

The Bursar was spun again.

"Come on, big money, big money."

"What's he mumbling about?"

The Senior Wrangler shrugged.

"Yes! Direct hubwards stop! You're in for it now!"

Nothing happened.

"You idiot, you botched a perfect spin!" shouted Archchancellor Ridcully. "That shouldn't even be possible!"

* * *

Death sat at his desk writing a letter. It wasn't going as well as he planned. He crumpled the paper and started fresh.

A strange sound drew his attention to a lifetimer on the shelf. The sand flowed upward returning exactly twenty-four hours to the top half and then resumed its regular pace.

HOW UNUSUAL

* * *

Willikins deftly avoided a flock of aggressive geese summoned by the Bursar. A full grown goose was not to be taken too lightly. There was a tense moment in which a goose bumped into one of the swamp dragons. Everyone scattered trying to avoid the violent explosion that didn't happen because the goose was very polite about it.

* * *

"What is wrong with you lot?" Angua shouted at Ping and Dr. Lawn. "All this could have been avoided if someone just grew a pair and captured Drumknott! Excuse me while I go get things done, you pansies."

Angua took off her armor in the bathroom and grabbed the package that held a light dress. She transformed into a wolf and went out into the streets. She came across Drumknott's scent sooner than she expected. It was undoubtedly fresh so she followed it to a posh house that she didn't recognize. She changed back into the form that had hands and opened the door. It was locked. That was not a problem. She dashed through the house until she encountered a group of people rushing out of a room to inspect the source of the disturbance. They were thugs and clowns and no match for Angua's strength even without her armor. She opened the door politely.

"Ah, Lord Downey, how are you?" she asked. "And Dr. Whiteface, you're looking well today. Pardon the intrusion, but Mr. Drumknott has some pressing matters to attend to."

"I'm afraid he is otherwise occupied, miss," said Dr. Whiteface.

A mirthless grin spread over Angua's face.

"Then why don't we skip the pleasantries and get straight to the part where I pulverize every last one of those assassins hiding in the other room."

Downey frowned. He had hoped to avoid this. Assassins came out of the darkness and surrounded Angua. One of them took out a scent bomb. Angua stood there perfectly calm.

"I see you have come prepared," she said. "Let's find out how well you peppermint works with this."

Angua snapped on a clown nose that she had scavenged from one of Dr. Whiteface's clowns. She grabbed the closest assassin just as another threw the bomb at her. It shattered all over her human shield promising that he would smell jolly for the next four days. Angua tossed him out a window. She got rid of the offensive smell, let in air from outside, and took out an assassin all at the same time.

The assassins were tough to fight off, mostly because she was alone and those little buggers were fast. They took all her focus. Suddenly Lord Downey grabbed her from behind and put a silver dagger to her throat.

"Now, dear, this isn't necessary—"

Downey screamed as Drumknott slashed a cut down is arm with a knife. Red splashed onto Dr. Whiteface in the most pleasing pattern and the smile under the pain was genuine. Angua hit Downey's hand until he dropped the knife. She kicked out at an attacking assassin and used the momentum of the recoil to knee Downey in the gut.

"You needn't be so uncouth," said Drumknott. "This is a delicate matter."

"You're damn right it's a delicate matter!" shouted Angua as she put down another assassin. "Now we are going to do this the hard way because there is no easy way!"

She picked up Drumknott and escaped down the hallway. Drumknott thought it best not to argue with a werewolf who had just laid cold the leader of the Assassins Guild.

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I put off writing Angua's scenes for a long time because I wasn't sure what she should do about the situation. Then I decided that it really doesn't matter and just wrote what I wanted her to do. I wanted a badass brawl and I wrote one. Why? Because I can.

This was seriously the first thing I wrote down. I referred back to it many times while writing:

"So she stormed into the room cuz knocking is for wimps and saw Drumknott there with some guild leaders and she said, boyah motherf***er and beat up everyone."

Before writing this story I did a bit of research on the profanity that Terry Pratchett uses. Shit is very uncommon. Crap is mostly used as a reference to actual poo and not as an expletive. Damn is everywhere. F*** is nowhere. Rats is used as an equivalent to darn. There's always bloody hell and turned up to eleven: bloody hellfire. There's a lot to be learned there maybe I'll make a reference sheet some time. I know the wizards have their own particular brand of curse words too.

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Someone told me the Weaving Dark was superfluous. Oh they are soooo going to eat their words.

Review please? I worked really hard on this chapter.


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